


Parallel Lines

by birdcages7



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Comfort, Drinking, Eventual Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Mutual Pining, Nightmares, Past Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Period-Typical Homophobia, References to Drugs, Smoking, Steve would love cop shows and you can't tell me otherwise, anger issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-29
Packaged: 2021-03-02 20:08:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 31,743
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24272587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/birdcages7/pseuds/birdcages7
Summary: Billy flicked the butt of his cigarette against the ground and stubbed it out with his soaked boot. Like hell he was about to unload his life on this guy.“No story. Just need some cash.”Benny just nodded, almost as if that’s what he expected to hear. He was already half through his cigarette. “Well, grab an apron off the door tomorrow if you’re coming back, it’ll help keep you dry.” He twisted off the glowing end and put the other half back in the pack. “Welcome to Harrington's dish boy.”
Relationships: Billy Hargrove/Steve Harrington
Comments: 54
Kudos: 189





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is one small thought I had that spiralled out of control and became this. Hope you all enjoy! An alternative reality where the Upside Down doesn't exist, so the relationships that the Upside Down caused never happened, but these two idiots are still idiots. I've played with some characters so not everything is 100% show accurate but I've tried to make it as real as possible. Set in 1986. Comments or kudos are welcomed!

The day before Billy's birthday had been, eventful. He doesn’t remember quite how it started but he knows how it ended. One minute things were as calm as they could be in that house where everyone constantly walked on eggshells, the next he was pinned against his bedroom wall, makeshift barricade in pieces by the door thrown wide by pure alcohol fuelled rage. Neil’s beady eyes both glassy and hate filled. Forearm across Billy’s throat. Spitting venom about something Billy had done, about something he had been seen doing that Neil didn’t approve of. He couldn’t recall exactly what it was, but it was enough to send his father spiralling. Enough for Billy to nearly pass out from the force over his throat. Enough for a fresh mark to be blooming under the skin on his cheek where the initial blow had landed.

Billy had learnt to play these situations one of two ways. Play dead or fight. He didn’t feel like playing dead anymore. He’d had years of playing dead, being dragged around from shit town to shit town, further and further away from home. He didn't want anything to do with this house, this family, the stupid hick town he’d found himself in yet again. The swirling rage filled monster within had been waiting for far too long to lash out, to finally let loose on its main foe. One swift crack across the side of the head and he could breathe. Neil passed out on the floor, sprawled on the bare hardwood. For how long Billy doesn’t know. He threw a small bag together and left out the window.

He had his car. That was all that mattered. He had freedom in his Camaro. Drive to California. Go home. Feel the sun on his skin again, real sun. Not the bullshit version they have here. He itched for it more than anything else. Memories of the beach, wet sand between his toes, ocean breeze, the incessant call of gulls everywhere.

The fuel gage had other ideas. The fifty dollars in his pocket seemed to agree.

Billy was good at charming pretty much everyone in town, like they’d never seen someone with self confidence and a burning desire not to die here before. He wasn’t stupid enough to think he could charm the gas attendant. He’d tried before when he was three bucks short. It was an incredible failure and neither party spoke about it again.

The adrenaline started leaving his system by the time he reached the Starcourt mall parking lot just outside of town. A spot in the back corner called his name. Just for the night, Billy told himself, one night then start thinking of a reasonable plan in the morning. His hand was shaking around the wheel as he pulled to a stop in the free space. Adrenaline definitely starting to leave. 

Fight or flight no longer needed. 

He’d spent a few nights in the Camaro before, after some particularly bad fights and a of couple house parties he hasn’t been invited too but just went anyway because fuck it. It wasn’t the most comfortable place to sleep but it beat sleeping on the street or in the woods. God knows what was in those woods. 

Happy 19th.

The following days didn’t bring a lot of ideas other than _CaliforniaCaliforniaCaliforniaCalifornia._ Billy’s mind was so focused on leaving it hurt. Twisted around and around and drove him crazy. Became a weight in his gut to go along with the rage that was still swirling deep. Always swirling. He’d sat in the food court nursing a free birthday sundae from that weird nautical ice cream shop trying to just think clearly, just for once not run on split second emotional responses. It had come down to a single line of thought shining through the emotional fog.

He didn’t know anyone in California anymore. He had no connections to call on, no family left, no sofas to crash on for a few nights until he found his feet. Everything he had that wasn’t memories and dreams and wants and desires was in Hawkins. And that crushed him. Tore his already worn out soul apart. He didn’t even have enough cash for a bus ticket to just go and see what happened. Hitchhiking across the country didn’t seem like a good idea either. Not that he had much to lose in terms of being robbed but he didn’t want to die. Least not at the hands of some fat trucker with obscene body odour. Billy could put up a fight better than most, he wasn’t a stranger to having to defend himself for the smallest things he did, but the thought of slowly dying alongside a deserted highway wasn’t where his thoughts needed to go.

What he needed was a job. And fast.

\---

The “interview" had lasted all but three minutes. Billy had tried vacancies in the mall to stay out of town, but he’d burnt bridges there before and stores weren’t too willing to give someone who had done some casual shoplifting a second chance. He’d worked his way to the nicer part of town, all boutique stores and local mom and pop businesses. The last shred of classic America before the big brands took over. Most had taken one look at him and shut their doors. It’s not as if Billy didn’t try, he really did, but there’s only so far a nice smile, a charming attitude, and a clean shirt will take you when it looks like you’ve been living in a car and surviving on free ice cream samples and stolen Poptarts for the best part of a week. Things were getting desperate on all levels. 

By the time he'd knocked on the back door of the restaurant it was getting late, his body ached and the idea was forming that maybe he’d have to go home, suck it up and get beaten to within an inch of his life. It would be as close to hell as Billy ever wanted to get, but maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after a month or three? He’d have a proper bed at least...

A towering figure answered the knock. Easily the size of the door and almost as wide, wrapped in a chef’s jacket with little stains dotted over it. Since the door was two steps up it was even more intimidating. Billy squared up to show his bulk back, that he wasn’t scared. That he wasn’t completely desperate and down to his last two cigarettes. Dark green eyes looked Billy over twice before he spoke.

“Yeah?” His voice was gruff but not angry. Certainly not light though. Cursed with the accent that comes from small towns. 

Billy puffed his chest. Tried not to look like he was caught between a rock and a hard place. _Just play it cool._

“I was wondering if you had any jobs going?” He tried to sound like it was no big deal either way. Just looking for a little work to get a couple bucks to buy beer or smokes. Maybe both. Something sickly sweet smelling wafted from the door, cinnamon and apples and butter, wrapped itself around Billy, dug its claws in and made his stomach rumble audibly.

The cool facade died instantly.

The man in the door looked him over again, really looked this time. It made Billy feel small and almost naked. It wasn’t a feeling he enjoyed. “You mind heat?”

Billy wanted to laugh. He did a little. “I was born in it.”

The man half nodded, still looking straight through Billy to his core. Almost like he was judging if he was worthy or not.

“Come back tomorrow at two. Don’t be tardy.” With that he turned to go back inside, the door closing behind him with a bang and leaving Billy out in the alleyway.

\---

14:15

The door was opened on Billy's third knock. The big man again. Up this close he could see the word ‘Benny’ stitched into the chest of the jacket.

“You’re late. Strike one.”

He went back inside. Billy followed into a wall of steadily growing heat. The whine of an air conditioner above clearly wasn’t helping. But the smell. God it smelled good. It smelt like actual food. It _was_ actual food. The man stopped and turned. Billy felt small again. Puffed halfway.

“This is my kitchen. Do what I say and we'll get on, okay?” He then pointed to a sink already full of stacked dishes and pots. “Get busy.”

Billy stayed rooted to the spot for a moment. This isn’t what he signed up for. But then he didn’t really ask for anything specific, he just asked for a job.

But a dishwasher? Aren’t these places supposed to have machines to do that by now?

He considered leaving, he didn’t have much but he still had his pride. And boy was he proud. Did he want to sink to the level of a dishwasher?

The pain in his stomach from lack of food, the ache in his muscles from the lack of good sleep, they all said yes.

Billy still sighed about it though. Sighed and went over to the sink. He knew how to wash dishes. Hell, everyone knows how to wash dishes. It’s one of the few jobs that doesn’t require a high school diploma, which with the amount of missed days, suspensions, and just plain walking out of class, Billy had never got. He wasn’t stupid though. He had street smarts and could easily pick things up. He quickly learnt how hot the water got and how fast. He quickly learnt that some pans are still hot when they’re stacked to be washed. He quickly learnt it’s not a good idea to wear jeans in a hot kitchen with a worn out air conditioner. That maybe appearance didn’t matter when you’re elbow deep in suds. He’d arrived in a jacket that was quickly discarded. Just jeans and his white tank and it was still the wrong side of warm.

The space of the kitchen itself was small. Or at least it seemed small. Maybe because Benny was taking up all the space and his little ragtag crew ran about underneath him. A guy about Billy's height, a couple years older, black hair and a chubby face but slimmer frame. Not skinny, not fat, not muscly. Somewhere in the middle of all of them somehow. Tommy. He looked a little familiar but everyone in this town started to blend after a while. He did look like an idiot; some people are just cursed with that look. Then there was the girl. Around Tommy's age maybe, slim and fast with hair pulled tight and high. Carol. Neither of them looked like they belonged in a kitchen. Carol in particular looked like she should be bullying middle school kids outside an Orange Julius. Billy somehow managed to just stay quiet and observe. Everyone knew their place. No one went above what Benny said. He wasn’t a bad guy; he was just someone who expected what he asked for to get done. Like an army sergeant. Carol was his right-hand man, dashing around different parts of the kitchen like a woman possessed. Tommy stuck to a cooler corner, clearly his spot from the worn out tiles he shuffled on.

Once it rolled around to five o'clock it was clear to see this was a team to be reckoned with. Everyone’s place became much more defined. Time flew past like it wasn’t even a concept. 

With his head down Billy forgot about the ache in his stomach. He had something to focus on that wasn’t trivial high school bullshit, hating this stupid dumb town, hiding his whole life from Neil. It was almost nice. He felt like walking out a few times though, when he would stop and look at his hands plunged deep into a huge greasy pot. He had a lot of pride, more often than not he knew that it was his pride that got him into trouble. An inability to back down from a fight, having to defend himself no matter how small the problem. It was something he had been told a lot by teachers growing up. He wasn’t meant to scrub crap out of a pan. He wasn’t meant to even be in this fucking town but whoever was upstairs had other ideas. Billy bit the inside of his cheek until he could taste blood, closed his eyes and counted to ten before carrying on. The goal was California. Just enough to get out. Then never look back.

His hands were stinging and pink when the shift was over, wrinkles so deep they might never come out. But that first cigarette in the alleyway by the dumpster was heaven. He'd earned it. Fuck it was almost better than sex.

Almost.

He’d lugged a garbage bag outside and decided to take a break. It was the first time he noticed it was dark. It wasn’t cool but it was a damn sight colder than inside that sweatbox. Jeans definitely weren’t a good idea. He didn’t have a lot of other options though.

He’d smoked most his cigarette by the time Benny came out to do the same.

“You work better than I thought.” A small puff of smoke escaped his thick lips when he spoke.

Billy felt that spark something inside, felt his face start to flush and Neil’s last mark glow. What was that supposed to mean? 

He just hummed in response. Bit the inside of his cheek. Counted to ten.

“So what’s your story?”

Billy flicked the butt of his cigarette against the ground and stubbed it out with his soaked boot. Like hell he was about to unload his life on this guy.

“No story. Just need some cash.”

Benny just nodded, almost as if that’s what he expected to hear. He was already half through his cigarette.

“Well, grab an apron off the door tomorrow if you’re coming back, it’ll help keep you dry.” He twisted off the glowing end and put the other half back in the pack. “Welcome to Harrington's dish boy.”

\---

The first couple weeks had been rough. Having to swallow his pride daily was hard, having to bite his tongue was even harder. Billy had never been good at not squaring up to a fight, the tight coil in his stomach constantly on a trigger switch ready to fire. Just being the dish boy was humiliating, but it gave him focus. His arms ached at the end of the day in a good way. And he'd started to bond with the little motley crew, learnt their routines. Benny was in whenever the restaurant was open. Tommy did four days, Carol did five. Billy was in whenever there was money to be made. The burning passion to leave never went away. He’d learnt to see this hell as an opportunity. Every pile of clean dishes was another quarter mile to freedom.

Despite his huge frame, Benny was a good guy. He didn’t talk a lot outside of service, as it was called, but they liked the same music so there was never a fight over the radio that sat on top of a small fridge. He didn’t treat Billy like shit but he was firm, didn’t take any shit either. He was easy to respect. 

The waitstaff at the restaurant were mostly young, 16 maybe. All girls. All in the same white shirt, black waistcoat, skirt, apron and sensible shoes uniform. A couple were nice, actually spoke to Billy. Shared cigarettes after work. Flirted horribly. Billy didn’t have the heart to tell them he wasn’t interested, but he liked the attention. He loved the gossip they brought through from the front. Little half conversations about all the rich snobs in town fuelling all his reasons to leave.

_“Did you see what Mrs Gellar did to her hair? Looks like a dead dog!”_

_“Why would you order a steak well done? It’s like eating leather and he doesn’t have any teeth anyway.”_

_“That’s not Mr Vinto's wife, she’s way too young for his old ass.”_

“Is it true he’s coming back?” Billy's ears twitched at that one. _Why would anyone want to come back?_ He glanced over his shoulder to one of the servers, Grace maybe?, all blonde Madonna hair in a black scrunchie, leaning on the serving table waiting for a plate to be finished. Benny didn’t say anything but Carol sure did.

“That’s what I heard. Dropped right out of college like a sack of shit. Had to come crawling back to mommy and daddy with his tail between his legs.” She laughed and added something to a plate, gave it a wipe with a cloth attached to her hip. “I can’t wait to look him in the eye and say I was right.”

“Hey, you’re after me. He still owes me ten bucks!” Tommy pipped up from the corner. “You guys out there watch out, everyone knows he’s a wannabe lady killer.”

Billy kept his head down, trying to piece together who they were talking about. For the amount of parties and events he invited himself too he’d never once bothered to learn anyone's name, or what anyone looked like properly. Just learnt enough to last the night. They were only a chance for free booze. 

_One plate at a time._

“You’ll all see Friday,” Benny spoke up and stopped the gossip dead. That was that confirmed. Grace grinned from ear to ear, took her plates and left back to the dining room. The topic of conversation for the kitchen was set for the night. Stories flew about this guy from Carol, Tommy and the servers when they would pop through.

“Never let him buy weed off you, you’ll never see that money. Oh I’m a little short right now man but I'll get it to you tomorrow, promise. Fucking liar.”

“Man remember that time he got totally blasted at Suzie's party and passed out in the bathtub. Total lightweight.”

“His dad totally bought his car for him, no one his age is rolling around in a fucking beemer.”

He certainly sounded like a spoiled brat.

Benny stayed quiet but for one sentence. “I wouldn’t talk shit about the boss' son.”


	2. Chapter 2

Billy had built up enough of a relationship with Tommy to crash on his couch a couple days a week, use his shower. Steal a beer from his fridge that for some reason was in the garage like that was totally normal. He was getting food at work so that wasn’t a problem anymore. Tommy was a nice guy, but he came across to everyone else like an asshole. Didn’t have much of a spine. Billy could put up with him for that. They shared weed in his mom's basement like high schoolers. Tommy didn’t ask about Billy's life. He liked that. Work had kept him busy so he didn’t have time to think about where he’d come from, just where he was going. His plan had become more defined: get enough cash for a whole new start. A place to live no matter how shitty, a month’s rent just in case. It meant staying in Hawkins longer but to never even have the risk of coming back, it was worth it. Boy it was worth it. Being a dish boy wasn’t the worst thing he could do for money. Sucking hick dick for ten bucks a time would be a lot worse. He’d considered it in dark, knew he could make good money batting his pretty blue eyes on the side of the highway, but god knows what kind of diseases run rampant in small town truck stops. He’d rather not find out.

Billy had started to talk to Benny a little when it was just them in the kitchen. Enough that in private at least they were on first name terms. During business hours he'd become Goldielocks to everyone else.

_ “Cause you got fancy girl’s hair.” _

Friday rolled around, one of the restaurant's busiest nights consistently. There was a different air to the building. The servers were buzzing like bees around a hive. The reason why came through the double swing door eventually. A guy taller than Billy, definitely thinner, though with Billy's muscle that wasn’t hard. But this guy was almost too thin. Brown eyes that just looked so tired but not in a physical way. That was a mental exhaustion for sure. He was dressed up in a servers uniform, just with trousers instead of a skirt. A mop of carefully tousled brown hair flopped with each step he took. It gave the illusion he was put together. Like a disguise.

Benny just nodded at him. Tommy and Carol kept their mouths tightly shut. For now at least. It made for a strained shift.

Billy took a break when there was only cleaning left to do, hung around the side of the dumpster and lit up a well needed cigarette. There was a different car parked next to his Camaro. A BMW. And fuck she was nice. Not as nice as Billy's but still, nice. A good second choice if you valued having a family one day. The fire exit door swung open. Billy exhaled to the sky.

“Hey, could I bum one of those?”

He looked over to the person talking, the brown mop top. The nametag on his shirt said Steve. Billy shrugged and handed one over from his pack. He had a bit of money now, they weren’t such a rare commodity anymore. Steve took it and used his own lighter, sucked hard and desperate. Nearly moaned on the exhale.

“Fuck I needed that. Thanks.” A pause. “So how long have you been here?”

Billy rolled his eyes a little more to himself than anything. Why did everyone in small towns want to know his whole life story?

“A month maybe,” he replied before taking another drag. Can’t talk if you’re smoking. Steve just nodded.

“Sucks huh?” Billy looked at him at that, it wasn’t what he expected to hear. Steve had an arm crossed over his chest, staring up at the sky, slowly spinning the glowing cigarette in his fingers seemingly just for something to do. Trying to calm his whole body from fidgeting. 

“It could be worse,” Billy answered honestly. Cause it could. He’d put a lot of his demons to bed about being a dishwasher. Money was money and it was slowly gathering up in an envelope in his glove compartment.

Steve barked out a laugh. A cloud of smoke came with it. It sounded harsh and sarcastic but his features didn’t show the same venom. “Ah, yeah well you’re not wrong there man.” He took another drag and turned his focus to the shine on his shoes. “Could be a lot worse...”

Billy wasn’t going to ask. Nope. No way. He didn’t want to know about this rich pretty boy’s poor troubled upbringing that Billy was sure was _so_ _hard_.

Steve was very audibly shuffling his foot along the ground, rolling around tiny stones that permeated Billy's quiet smoke break. He swallowed back the annoyed groan that was fighting its way out of his throat, bit his cheek to stop it. Flicked ash onto the ground and pointed his thumb back to the building they were leaning on.

“Your old man own the place?” Honestly, Billy was good with people. Extremely good. And it seemed like the only way to get back his quiet time was to play the game a little. Steve’s shoulders bounced a little at the question.

“Yeah. They’re never here though so don’t worry. Always off  _ somewhere _ ...” Steve spoke a lot with his hands, waving the cigarette around with each exasperation. “They’re not gonna like, come back and do an inspection or whatever.”

Billy nodded. “I wasn’t really worried about that, but thanks...” He stepped back off the wall and stubbed what was left of his cigarette on the spot where he was leaning. “I gotta get back.”

“Oh. Oh yeah, yeah sure,” Steve said in kind of a surprised tone. Like he was expecting Billy to ask more questions about whatever he clearly wanted to talk about. Like Billy would actually care about what he had to say. He stayed leaning against the wall, brown mop bobbing as he inhaled again and looked back down at his shoes, shuffling stones again.

There was something about his face that bothered Billy, not the heavy dark rings under his eyes, or the fact he clearly bit his bottom lip mindlessly and tore at the skin at some point but didn’t seem to care about it. It was that Billy sort of recognised him. From where he couldn’t remember. It bothered him as he lay in the back of the Camaro in his Starcourt space. The world outside was dark, growing darker somehow even though it was already the middle of the night. A half-eaten box of pasta sat on the passenger seat.

That stupid face was bothering him.

If Billy had the space to turn over in annoyance he would have.

Harrington. Steve Harrington.

A memory came to him, it clicked bright in the dim world around him.

_ King Steve. _

He had heard that name all around high school. Remembered seeing him in the hallways, flocks of girls always on his heels but a few feet back so as not to be creepy. Even though it was still creepy. Remembered a basketball game here and there. Remembered house parties they’d been to at the same time, always seemed to be at opposite sides of the rooms so never to meet.

He remembered that girl that was tucked under his arm. God knows what she was called.

Billy rubbed at his temple, pushed his golden hair from his face.

_ King Steve. Come back to rule his kingdom. _

\---

The radio crackled. Nothing in the kitchen worked quite right. It was just Billy and Benny. Sometimes Billy came in early to help do prep, extra cash. Turns out cooking was something he enjoyed doing. It was something he could pour his energy and effort into and see a result, a result that wasn’t destructive. It kept his inner monsters at bay, at least for a little while. It kept his anger quiet. It might have had something to do with playing with knives and fire. Not that he was really playing, but occasionally he’d leave something in a pan just a little too long to watch it burn. Imagine it was this dumb town, faces he remembered from the past telling him he’d never amount to anything. Neil appeared in his mind more than once. Benny never said anything. Could probably just take one look at Billy’s face and realise this was as close to therapy he would ever get. He would eventually take the pan off the stove though, dump it into the sink with a sizzle. Say the same thing each time.

“Don’t burn us down now.”

The restaurant was the last place in town Billy wanted to burn down.  It felt almost like how a home should feel, as dumb as that sounded. Work shouldn’t feel like home but Billy’s home life was hell for so many years. It was just nice to be somewhere and not feel scared. Or angry. Or furious.

During these times they didn’t talk a whole lot, aside from what needed to get done and Billy asking if he could go for a smoke. A few questions had started to build in his mind however, and for a brief moment he thought that the country had caught him at last. The very last part of California had been drained away and replaced by whatever was here. Bumpkinness?

In those times he would play with his pendant, St. Christopher, an ever-constant companion. No, California was still the goal.

Go home.

Billy went out for a smoke as Carol arrived for her solo shift, they just nodded at each other before she went inside. The beemer followed. Parked next to Billy’s baby in the small lot out back for employees. He could see Steve playing with his hair in his rear view before he got out of the car. Spotted Billy and walked right over. 

They hadn’t shared many shifts together, not that they shared a huge amount of time together inside the building anyway, but a routine was growing. Something Billy had allowed to grow when the coil in his gut wasn’t wound quite so tight. He grabbed a cigarette from his pack and held it out. Steve took it, used his own lighter, and lent against the rough red brick wall in his usual spot at Billy’s side. It was comfortable. Usually they smoked in silence, one breathing in as the other exhaled. But today, today Billy had questions. And as much as he hated to spoil quiet smoke time they were bubbling over and ruining his quiet _sleep_ time. 

“Were you called King Steve in high school?”

It clearly caught Steve off guard. He tried not to show it but his exhale was stalled for a moment.

“That stupid name is gonna follow me to the grave,” he chuckled hollowly. Inhale. Exhale. “Yeah I was. Thought I was the shit in high school, look where that got me. Right back here.”

The shadows under his eyes were dark.

Billy just nodded. It confirmed what he knew and what he remembered was true, and not just made up from the back of his mind. He still didn’t  _ factually _ know a whole lot though. Steve looked down at his feet, rolling the little stone under his soles again.

“Since we’re asking questions now,” Steve started, “and I don’t want to step on your toes or anything...”

Billy didn’t like where this was going. Not one bit. He smoked calmly to keep up his façade.

Inhale.

Exhale.

“Is it true you live in your car?”

Billy couldn’t stop the glare, the snap and bite in his voice as he responded. The coil tightening. The monster coming to life and needing to be fed. God it was hungry. “So what if it is?”

Steve put his hands up a little in defence, surrender. Little smoke trails followed his frantic hand movements as he tried to dig himself out of the hole he had put himself in. Billy watched everything carefully, pointedly. Looking for weakness. Fight or flight.

Fight. Definitely fight.

“I didn’t mean to offend. Just, I heard the girls out front talking, I just wasn’t sure. Sorry man, I didn’t... like I didn’t...”

Billy was still glaring, but he hadn’t backed off the wall. Yet. It was kinda funny watching Harrington trip over his words trying to apologise. His brown eyes turned to darts, from side to side. Anywhere but Billy’s face. His hair flopped, his hands waved. He was just so animated. 

The monster calmed, released its claws for a moment to breathe, the coil unwound.

Inhale.

Exhale.

_ Don’t fight the boss’ son. You need this job asshole. _

Inhale.

Exhale.

_ Go home. You’re doing this to go the fuck home. _

“Didn’t realise I was the topic of conversation out front.”

Steve slowed, his eyes rolled back into their usual spots, his whole persona went back to normal like his franticness never existed. Billy almost smiled. Almost.

“Well it’s either you or how many bottles of wine we can legally sell old Vinny before he actually turns into a grape.” Inhale. Exhale. “You’d be amazed how many think you’re cute to be honest.”

Billy just grinned, let a little perfect puff of smoke escape to the sky before he stubbed out his filter on the wall and let it fall to the floor. He pushed himself up to head inside.

“Of course, I'm fucking gorgeous.”

\---

Billy smoked Marlboros. Steve smoked Camels. Before work they used Billy’s. After they used Steve’s. It was a different flavour but it wasn’t terrible. Nicotine was nicotine. To be honest, Billy wasn’t sure Steve actually smoked outside of work, he always seemed to retrieve two cigarettes from the same pocket crumpled pack. 

The world outside was warm. Almost as warm as the kitchen. The air conditioner was on its last legs and a humid summer was really starting to get to its peak. It would be a warm fall for sure.

They leant on their usual spots against the wall. Steve still had on his server’s apron that reached his knees. Made him head waiter or something like that. Billy’s boots weren’t as wet. It had been a pretty calm night. But tomorrow the restaurant was closed, their one day off since Steve seemed to work just as much as Billy did. Boy he was looking forward to it. His arms had that good ache growing in them, that ache that comes with hard work. It was different from the ache he got being curled up on his backseat.

Steve was rolling his cigarette, a sign he was thinking. Steve had a lot of little signs, little tells that gave away everything. He couldn't keep a secret if he tried.

“If you wanna talk just talk,” Billy rolled his head on the brickwork to look more at the guy next to him. His dark eye circles, brown moptop hair, deep brown eyes. Everything deep and dark.

“I don’t want you to take it the wrong way.” He started rolling stones under his shoe again, shuffling back and forth.

“Well I don’t know what way I’m gonna take it if you keep it to yourself, am I?”

A few silent moments passed. The stones rolled, the cigarette rolled, Steve worried the skin on his bottom lip.

Eventually he just spit it out.

“You wanna come stay at mine? The house is empty and just. I dunno man, the thought of sleeping in a car...”

Billy wanted to be offended, he should have been. He wasn’t a charity case. He didn’t need anyone's help, especially not a rich pretty boy. He was actually doing pretty well out of all this bullshit, had a real plan to properly start over. The monster inside, however, didn’t bite. The coil didn't tighten. Steve just looked like he wanted to help, in a sad puppy who’d just pissed on the rug and had its nose rubbed in it kind of way. Billy exhaled to the sky, watching the little smoke cloud disappear before he answered with a shrug.

“Sure. Gotta be better than Tommy’s mom’s basement.”

\---

Harrington didn’t live in a house. He lived in a  _ mansion _ . Billy followed his beemer after work, parked in the drive easily big enough for a third car and just stared up at the building in front of him.

_ Rich, pretty boy, Harrington. _

It stood out a little from the rest of the houses in the neighbourhood, but it was clear the people that lived around here had money, the amount of which Billy would be lucky if he even saw in movies, let alone a bank account. He grabbed his bag and followed Steve inside. The door creaked and echoed in the emptiness. Everything was immaculately decorated, but it was still pretending to be homey. Family photos lined the stairs in ornate little frames but they looked like they hadn't been updated in years. A table by the door had a key bowl but also a white porcelain vase with gold lions painted on it that looked like it was worth more than Billy would make in a whole year. Maybe two. Shoes neatly lined up on a little separate rug so not to get the main rug dirty.

Steve rubbed through his hair and his shoulders visibly sagged being in this space that was meant to be his home. “Guess I should give you the tour so you can make yourself at home huh?” He kicked his shoes off onto the mini rug. Billy did the same with his boots. His mom had taught him manors before...

Well, before.

He followed Steve around the house; the living room, the kitchen, the _second_ living room, the dining room, the door to the basement, the door to the garage, the door to his father’s study, the pool through the large patio doors, the two bathrooms, the main bedroom, Steve’s room and the two guest rooms. At least he had the decency to look embarrassed by the sheer amount of space he had to himself. Joked that one of the spare rooms was meant for a sibling that never happened so really there would only be one. 

One thing struck Billy more than anything else. None of the rooms had any personality. They could all be showrooms. Even Steve’s bedroom was plain, with strange check wallpaper and furniture that matched the rest of the house. There were a couple of pictures and a poster of a 1983 Pontiac Trans Am on the wall, but apart from that, nothing. Blank. Empty. Fuck even Billy’s old room had band posters and his vanity table of different colognes, his record box and stereo, his weights. A dart board.

Billy put his bag in one of the spare rooms and looked out the window to the backyard and the dense woodland just beyond the fence. It was intimidating. He felt penned in, like there was no escape. He missed looking at the ocean. He missed everything about the ocean. The smell, the breeze. The freedom.

_ Not long now. _

The spare bed was one of the most comfortable things Billy had felt in such a long time he wanted to cry, almost did. The way the mattress held his sore muscles. He had space to stretch out, properly stretch out, and not have his feet dangle off the end like Tommy’s mom’s basement couch. The pillow smelt like stale fabric softener. No one had slept in here for a while. It should have been so easy to just drop off and drift away and not wake up until the sun was high in the sky, but he couldn’t. Even with the blinds drawn he could feel the trees just, there. After an hour of tossing and trying to sleep he gave up, pushed the sheets away and decided to explore this show house he found himself in. Kept quiet in his socks on to try and not wake his host.

First, one of the bathrooms. There was nothing really unusual to be found, nothing juicy in the medicine cabinet apart from a box of hair dye that wasn’t Steve’s colour. Least he knew that Mr. Harrington was a vain bastard as well as a rich one. He took a moment to look himself over in the mirror accented with lights. God he looked like shit. Hair was getting long again, curls getting a little out of control. He badly needed a good shower, not just a five minute scrub down so not to use too much water. His clothes could use a proper scrub too. Definitely in the morning.

Quietly he padded downstairs and into the kitchen. It was a  _ nice _ kitchen. Open with large windows to let in natural light when there was any. Modern appliances. Cupboards full of name brand foods. Fridge full of beer and wine and a half-drunk bottle of vodka sitting in the door. Stolichnaya. The good stuff. All of it ripped straight from the pages of a magazine, one of those fancy ones that you see lining a grocery store checkout line.

All just soulless.

Didn’t stop Billy helping himself to a couple Chips Ahoy from a jar on the counter.

A thud came from above his head. Billy froze and stared up at the ceiling. Stayed rooted to the spot as careful feet trod tiredly down the stairs, heavy but not clumsy. He was more than ready to make a joke about stealing cookies from the cookie jar but Steve never came into the kitchen, didn’t even look towards the wide-open door where he would have seen Billy literally with crumbs around his mouth. He followed a path he clearly had followed a million or more times before and went into one of the living rooms, the less fancy one towards the back of the house.

_ “My parents have a room we’re not allowed to sit in apart from holidays or if they have a party. It's really stupid.” _

Out of sheer curiosity, Billy followed. From the door he saw Steve’s tall frame slump onto the couch that didn’t seem as comfortable as it looked, turn the tv on to a channel that wasn’t broadcasting anything but static and pull a burnt orange blanket around his shoulders. He just sat and stared at an empty screen emitting nothing but light and fuzz. 

It was bizarre. But did at least partly explain why he always looked so tired. 

A part of Billy wanted to go and ask what was up, but they definitely weren't on that level of friendship yet. Plus then he’d had to admit he’d been watching from the door for a good ten minutes at that point. No, it was easier to just let this go, a weird one off, never speak of it again. 

As carefully as he’d come down, Billy made his way back up the stairs, missing a couple here and there to make his presence even less, and back into the spare room, barely letting the door click shut.

The weird empty house. The weird son inhabiting the weird empty house. The weird trees surrounding the weird son inhabiting the weird empty house.

_ I'm gonna die here... _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And they meet! Thank you to everyone reading, I'll be updating regularly so you shouldn't be waiting long for the next part.
> 
> [Tumblr.](https://bird-in-a-cage.tumblr.com/)


	3. Chapter 3

True to his word Billy never spoke about what he saw the next morning. What he did instead was heave his ass into a well needed shower and god it was a  _ really _ good shower. One of those nice, powerful ones that could tear skin from bone and just feels so satisfying. Weeks of ache and stiffness melted away down the drain. Fuck, he even had time to do his hair properly. It was getting long. Should probably get it cut soon. He dressed and went downstairs, not expecting to see Steve emerged from his burnt orange blanket. Definitely didn’t expect to see him standing over a slowly smoking toaster.

“I don’t think it's meant to be doing that...” he said pretty matter of factly. Steve slowly turned his head towards Billy’s voice, the dark rings were almost down to his cheeks, hair flat and lifeless. 

He looked so beyond tired it wasn’t even funny.

“Jesus Harrington...” Billy came into the room and unplugged the appliance, put it outside via the window before the smoke alarms could come on. “Don’t burn us down now.”

“Sorry,” Steve half mumbled, looking down at his bare feet. He was definitely awake but it was like talking to a zombie.

Billy actually felt sorry for him.

“Go sit. I’ll make coffee, or something...” 

He nudged Steve’s shoulder to make his point, found some good instant stuff in a cupboard and made two cups, grabbed a third for an ashtray. It was way too early to deal with any of this without a smoke. For either of them.

Steve had made his way back to the second living room, back under the burnt orange blanket pulled up around his shoulders, his whole body tucked into one corner of the couch. Billy took up space on the other side, put the two filled mugs on the coffee table, the empty one between them, and didn’t take much more time lighting up his first cigarette of the day. He had ten left in the pack, should see him through to tomorrow nicely.

Steve took two heavy blinks, the type that make your whole face move, before he sat up more, untucked his hands from the blanket and grabbed a mug.

“Sorry. About that. I just... I don’t sleep good...”

Billy fought so hard not to just laugh in his face at one of the most obvious statements he’d ever heard in his life. “No shit. Looks like you’ve gone ten rounds with the sandman and lost.”

Steve chuckled lightly before he took a sip.

It was a long time before either spoke again, but between a smiling weather lady predicting a lightning storm that clearly wasn’t going to happen and Steve playing with his hair it was getting a little too quiet.

“I’m guessing that happens a lot. The no sleep thing.” Billy put the ashtray mug back on the table and picked up his coffee, now cool enough to drink. Steve nodded and half smiled from the corner of his mouth.

“Every night for, four, five years?” He shrugged and rolled the blanket down to his hips.

“You ever wanted to go see someone for it?”

Cause that’s what people who had money did right? They went and saw therapists for depression, marriage counsellors for cheating spouses. Rich folks had the money to fix themselves. It was everyone else that had to suffer. And Steve clearly had money, at least his parents did.

“Oh no, my dad would never sign off on anything like that,” he spoke with bitterness, worrying the skin around his thumbnail. Billy had never heard him bitter before. “They’re never fucking here anyway so why would they care?”

Suddenly ten cigarettes didn’t feel like they were going to be enough for this day, hell not even the rest of the morning. Normal Billy would have let it go, let the conversation die. He didn’t want to get dragged into anyone else’s business, especially not here, not in this town. But the way Steve looked just so tired and helpless tugged at him somehow. He'd felt like that inside so many times.

“Yeah. Parents are terrible huh?” He smiled genuinely and drank more coffee. Steve perked more awake, his eyes slowly sparkled to life, and he bitched in the space Billy left open for him. Unloading what was probably years' worth of grievances that had all been building and building inside. It was bound to come out at some point, rather with Billy on a couch that was more form than function than to a cop after god knows what on a confession tape somewhere. Steve was all flailing hands and shaggy hair bobbing from side to side as he spoke, growing more and more passionate with each complete sentence.

But Billy found out a lot about his employer. Always busy working, probably had mistresses all over the country, his mother forced to go with him to try and save their marriage time after time even though it was hopeless. Forever absent from Steve’s life. More like shadows.

“It’s not that I gave a shit or not if he came to the games or not, it just would have been nice to have been  _ thought of _ , you know?”

All Billy could do was nod. Nod and offer cigarettes. Get more coffee.

He did know on some level. But he’d learnt in his childhood to not rely on Neil for anything. Not even being a reasonable human being. And then he met Susan and became worse somehow.

Susan and her stupid seashell vases.

When the one-sided conversation faded away Steve looked physically lighter. Not less tired but lighter. The mug had four ground down filters in it. The news had turned into  _ Wheel of Fortune _ .

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to just, spit my whole life’s story at you.” Steve looked at least partially embarrassed. He was good at that expression. 

Billy just shrugged. “It’s alright. Guess you just needed to unload.”

They spent the rest of the day in each other’s company. Smoking a bit more, moving from coffee to soda and fancy bottled water. Watching  _ Wheel _ , then  _ Magnum PI _ , then  _ Cheers _ , then  _ Miami Vice.  _ It had been a long time since Billy had just zoned out in front of a TV all day. He did have plans, maybe head to a store or two, pick up a couple things he’d been eying up to make car life a little more bearable. But nothing came to action. Instead they shouted wrong answers at  _ Wheel _ , guessed who did it with  _ Magnum _ and  _ Miami _ , pretty much straight ignored  _ Cheers _ for a conversation about how weird it would be to go to a bar where  _ everyone _ knows your name and not think that’s just about the most clear sign of alcoholism. The morning rolled into the afternoon.  _ Cheers _ was about to roll into  _ Family Ties _ . Billy heaved himself off the couch. 

He hated  _ Family Ties. _

“I’m gonna make some food, that okay?” 

Steve looked up at him and smiled. Since the initial outpouring he’d barely fidgeted at all. He still looked exhausted on the outside but his eyes were alive and bright. “Help yourself. Probably about time all that stuff got used.”

“You don’t use it? You’ve got like, a million pans hanging from the ceiling!”

“Okay well one,” Steve held up a finger for each point he made, “my parents own a restaurant, I don't have to cook. Two, I  _ work _ in a restaurant, I don't have to cook. And three, I’m no good at cooking, I  _ know _ I’m no good at cooking, please see the previous two points.” He grinned, showing off perfect teeth in a cheshire cat smile.

Billy flipped him off playfully and went to the kitchen. Instantly he went to make grilled cheese. For someone who didn’t cook the kitchen was stocked with everything that he needed and a whole lot more. He did however find what Steve was living on outside of restaurant take out: a half empty bag of dinosaur chicken nuggets, sitting so lonely in the freezer it was almost a metaphor for himself in this house.

The sad nuggets, eaten by the lonely boy, in the empty house, surrounded by the weird trees.

It didn't take long to whip together his sandwich, it didn't look half bad either. He’d taken a bite by the time he wandered back through. Steve was completely blanket free, the TV was now playing  _ Hill Street Blues  _ on a different channel. Turned out Steve liked cop dramas, he explained it was for the car chases more than anything else but Billy didn’t believe him. Steve never guessed who the correct culprit for the cases were, but that never stopped him pointing at each character who wasn’t one of the main ones and declaring that they were definitely the bad guy for the episode. Billy just let him do it, didn’t mind all the extra noise it caused, he was growing to like hearing Steve talk, watching his hair flip flop from side to side with his points towards the screen. He didn’t mind how, even though Billy would have totally made him his own grilled cheese if he had just asked, Steve still asked for the corner of his before Stg. Belker wrapped up the case because the corner of a grilled cheese was the best part.

“It’s where all the crispy stuff is man, I thought you understood food!”

Billy didn’t mind how Steve had spent all day just hanging around in basketball shorts and an old high school gym shirt, long legs either tucked underneath himself or spread out under the coffee table. Seemingly refusing to get dressed properly even though he had company. Didn’t mind how he had a little collection of moles on his thigh that looked like the big dipper that would catch Billy’s eye every time Steve readjusted his position for the seventh time that hour. It was really when he caught himself staring at Steve smoking one of his Camels, plush pink lips curled around the filter, marked cheeks filling and deflating gently with smoke, that Billy realised the monster that lived in his gut was quiet for the first time in a long time. It was replaced with something soft, pink, delicate. Like a flower about to bloom.

Billy realised he was fucked. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kind of a short one. The next part will be up soon. Thank you to everyone who's on board so far, it's a super huge confidence boost!
> 
> [Tumblr page.](https://bird-in-a-cage.tumblr.com/) Come ask me stuff.


	4. Chapter 4

The world outside the Camaro was dark. The intense dark that only seemed to exist in this stupid town. Not even stars perminated the blackness when they should have been shining bright. There hadn’t been a cloud in the sky all day. It was humid, and sticky, and  _ dark _ . Billy stared up at the roof above the back seat, unable to sleep. It had been a few days since spending a couple nights at the Harrington residence.

A few days since the realisation.

While still under that roof he had played it cool, sunk back into himself a little, just like old times. At work it was easy to keep to the sink or the prep work, keep quiet. Let Tommy and Carol talk. Let the waitresses talk. Start going for a smoke at a different time. Yeah it probably looked like avoidance but just until Billy could get his head straight.

It wasn’t that he cared that Steve was a guy, far from it. Billy had boyfriends before. Well, not really boyfriends with the whole label, but guys he’d gotten close to and fooled around with. He was pretty sure there was a line across the country of guys he’d been that ‘experiment’ with.

Gotta take what you can get.

The last time he had feelings, proper feelings, was Colorado, back when Billy’s hair was shorter. A boy named Danny. Green eyes like forests, jet black hair, coke bottle glasses in black rims. They were on the same baseball team. Best friends almost instantly and more. School wasn’t total hell back then. The monster was there but quiet, smaller, kept at bay by friendly and knowing smiles across the halls, sneaking off to hold hands and make out under bleachers and in equipment sheds between sacks of footballs.

Then Billy got careless. He thought maybe, just maybe, he could be happy in Colorado. With Danny. Brought him home one night when the place was meant to be empty. A couple of stolen beers and Pink Floyd’s  _ The Wall  _ playing in the background, it was as perfect as a couple of 14 year olds exploring themselves could get.

Until Neil had come home from work early.

Danny had been asked to go home politely. Billy never went back to that school. Everything was packed up and within a week they’d moved. Billy’s wrist in a cast for the next three months. He never played baseball again.

He thumbed over the now small scar on the outside of his wrist. Sometimes he could still feel the pins they had to put in to hold it together. That had really been the beginning of it. He’d seen Neil angry plenty of times, but he’d never been spat at and called a “disgusting faggot”, beaten to within an inch of conciousness. Black eyes, a bruised jaw, boot marks on his ribs that took weeks to fade. The brewing monster flourished, became an uncontrollable beast that ruled Billy more times than he liked to confess. Rage became hatred became more rage became his hair trigger, coiling tighter and tighter everyday he was dragged to another piece of shit town, when it was three or four months before Neil lost his temper yet again and used his son as a punching bag.

He never listened to  _ The Wall  _ again.

Even though Colorado was years ago, Billy was an adult now, it still tainted everything he did. The rage tainted everything it touched. He never allowed himself to become properly attached to anyone in the same way. Everything from then on was totally hidden, hook ups at house parties and nothing more. Never anything more than once, maybe twice. If that got Billy a reputation, he didn’t care. Odds were the family unit wasn’t sticking around long enough for him to ever hear about it.

Then there’s Harrington. Pretty boy Harrington and his pretty boy smile and his pretty boy hair in his family resturant that Billy  _ needed _ to leave this too dark town. Yes he was away from the family home, safe and sound curled up on his leather back seat, but he didn’t need to start putting down roots, not when he was so close to getting out alive. He could find a pretty boy in California. One who liked to surf, or go on long hikes, and didn’t have skin so pale it looked like they would turn lobster red if they even drifted past Wyoming. Even if that would make his moles stand out more.

Billy groaned in frustration to no one and punched the roof. Literally  _ anyone _ else,  _ anywhere _ else, at  _ any _ other time.

\---

Turns out Tommy was kind of an unreliable piece of shit. Why else would you call out of work on a fully booked Friday, two hours before you were supposed to show up? Even though he didn’t show it in any expressions Billy could tell Benny was furious; his accent came out a little stronger when he offered Billy a promotion, then and there, if he could work on the line.

Billy leapt at it, grabbed it with both hands. Even though he’d only done prep work before he’d been watching, observing. He’d picked up quickly how order call outs worked, counted in his head how long it took from the order being placed to when it should be sent. He knew the menu, knew the most popular items because they were the ones that were repeated all night, over and over until shut down.

He was just waiting for a chance to get unchained from the sink.

Carol handed him a spare scrunchie when he’d come inside to start.

“Hair back on the line Goldielocks.”

Yes, essentially, BIlly had just moved from one corner to the other, but he had a lot more to think about here, a lot more to learn. Didn’t have the time to let outside thoughts swirl and bubble like suds.

Didn’t have time to occasionally glance back at the door to see who was coming in for pick up.

And, okay, maybe he burnt the same dish once or twice, maybe he accidently cut his finger the first time he picked up the knife a little too quickly and Carol had slapped a blue bandaid on him before he even realised, but he felt at home. Much more at home than he ever expected to feel. So much more than just by the sink. He didn’t want to stop once the last order was done, realised he didn’t have to, he’d be back here again tomorrow.

Tommy being a piece of shit really was the best thing to happen that day.

The afterwork cigarette was heaven. Billy didn’t care it was disgustingly hot outside again and he could feel the back of his shirt sticking to his skin with sweat. He was happy, hell he’d earned a pat on the shoulder from Benny which in itself was rarer than gold. His get out plan was starting to change, before it was just get any job going, now maybe he could get a good recommendation, see what California kitchens were like. A place on the beach maybe. A good little kitchen job, the warm sun outside, a cute surfer boyfriend…

A pack of Camels was almost under his nose before Billy realised he’d be daydreaming. He looked over at Harrington who was wearing that grin of his.

“Am I interrupting something? Didn’t realise you were a scrunchie guy.” He gestured to Billy’s hair, still tied back and frankly providing some relief to his neck in this unnatural humidity. Billy just smiled easily and helped himself to a cigarette, tucked it behind his ear.

“Not my fault you wouldn’t be able to pull it off.”

Steve chuckled and took his position against the wall, somehow looking unfazed by how disgustingly sticky it was. But then he hadn’t been in a kitchen all night, Billy was sure the dining area was wondrously air conditioned and it was just them who had to suffer. The class divide. Steve exhaled his first cloud to the sky.

“I saw you on the line tonight.”

Billy nodded. “Yeah. Tommy called in so…” He played it cool, like he didn’t care it was probably easily the best night at any job he’d ever had. That he didn’t want to grab Steve by the shoulders and tell him everything because the stupid, clumsy, pretty boy waiter was probably the closest friend he’d had in years and they still barely knew each other. He’d spent years acting like he didn’t care about a lot of things, be a shame to ruin the streak.

Steve nodded back. Hair bobbed a little. Stiffer than usual, probably more product to combat the heat from making it deflate. He wasn’t as fidgety today, didn’t look as tired. He still chewed the skin around his thumbnail though. Billy looked away and up to the black sky. They seemingly just weren’t going to discuss how Billy hadn’t been purposely avoiding this situation of theirs for a few days.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Couple more months and he could leave. Maybe see stars again. There never seemed to be any stars in Hawkins. Apart from the big dipper on Steve’s thigh...

“Do you wanna stay over again?” Steve suddenly spat out like it was choking him if he didn’t release it from this throat. “Just… the car…”. Billy knew there was more to it than that. He wasn’t looking at Steve directly but out of the corner of his eye he could see flushed cheeks.

At least he thought he could.

Inhale.

Exhale.

_ Stay cool. _

“Promise I won’t bore you with cop dramas this time…”

Billy laughed at that and finally turned to look at the guy next to him. He might have been imagining the flushed cheeks but they could have faded a little. It was hard to tell. When Harrington was hot he looked it. He just had one of those complexions. “Wouldn’t be a night at the empty mansion without Don Johnson.”

\---

The house was still intimidating, much more than Billy ever liked to admit. Nothing had been moved and aside from Steve’s shoes being in a different place on the little rug on top of the main rug you’d struggle to even know he existed in this space.

“You want a beer? I want a beer.”

Billy went and dumped his bag before accepting. He picked the same room, found the bed had been made different to how he remembered leaving it. It left him with a feeling he didn’t really like to dwell upon.

Steve had set up home in the second living room, hunched over a box of records, sipping heavily from a can of Coors. A second was on the table unopened for Billy, in the spot his coffee mug had been the previous week. “What sort of stuff do you like? I’ve got a bit of everything.”

Billy made himself at home on the couch, still not as comfortable as it looked, stretching himself out all the way to his toes. May as well take advantage of a situation when it landed in your lap so neatly.

“You got any Def Leppard?” He cracked the can open. It was still cold. All was quiet apart from a soft flicking of records being looked through and the ceiling fan slowly spinning.

“No, don’t think so.”

“Motley Crue?”

Another soft flick.

“Nope.”

“Scorpions?”

“Sorry.”

“Jesus Harrington, then what do you have?” BIlly laughed exasperated, sitting up a little to make it easier to drink. Steve stood and brought the box with him. It wasn’t huge, but it was  _ full _ . From his angle Billy could see he at least had a Beatles record.

“We have; Joy Division, Blondie, The Smiths, couple of Pink Floyds, Velvet Underground, Fleetwood Mac obviously…”

“Obviously.” Billy reached out and flicked through a couple from the back, recognised three women on the cover and laughed before he could stop himself, pulling the vinyl sleeve free from the box. “Bananarama? You have a Bananarama record?”

Steve flushed high on his cheeks and snatched it back, almost cradling it to his chest. “What? They make good pop music man. Plus it's good for girls...” He carefully tucked it back inside the box with the rest of the albums, clearly in some kind of order known only to him. Billy sat up more upon his golden find and went through the box with a new energy, trying to find any other guilty secrets Harrington might have. He couldn’t stop the grin growing on his face.

“Oh, in case they wanna have fun huh?” Billy pulled free the Cyndi Lauper sleeve. Steve quickly shoved it back in.

“Yes actually! The girls at college liked them...”

“Oh I’m sure they did,” Billy chuckled, dripping with sarcasm, and let Steve be, even if he did also spot Duran Duran and Wham! in there too. Eventually Steve picked out a record to put on. Billy felt his stomach drop.

_ The Wall _ .

“Since you’re such a fucking rock music snob.” It was said with friendliness, maybe a little bit of sarcasm but it was well hidden. Billy quickly lit up a cigarette as the record player whirled into life, finished off his can to go get two more.

This was going to be the longest hour and a half of his life.

Billy did, however, notice the fridge was more stocked with beer than last time, if he remembered correctly. There was more vodka which implied Steve had finished the bottle that was in there, went out to get more with a fake ID, and had drunk at least a third of the new one. There was still the same amount of dinosaur nuggets. Billy shook away thoughts he had and grabbed the cans before thinking again and grabbing the whole pack, bringing them back and setting them on the table. He had a feeling it was going to be one of those nights, and if not, well may as well get totally drunk and pass out in a fancy living room, ruin a nice cushion or two. Steve didn’t seem to mind at all, from his spot on the floor between the couch and the coffee table as if the room wasn’t filled with chairs to sit. He was quickly on can two as well.

They both just sat and listened for a while, the music tearing Billy up inside, bringing back memories and flashes of violence and happiness, all swirling together to create the worst images. He tried not to let any of it show, but kept the grip on his can tight, trying to keep the monster down, but he could feel it calling with every riff and chord that came out of the speakers. He rolled his head back over the arm of the couch to breathe out slow, count to ten. Count to twenty. Unplucked the scrunchie from his hair and played with it. It was metallic green. Snapped it and twisted it and flicked it around his fingers until the album got to  _ Another Brick in the Wall Pt 1 _ and he couldn’t take it anymore.

“So you dropped out huh?” Billy worked his head back up to see Steve kind of frozen, hurt tainting his deep browns. That just made Billy feel worse. “Just, if we’re gonna be drinking, and I’m gonna be sleeping here again, may as well find out if all your little server minions are full of shit or not.” He hoped a grin at the end would save him. It kind of did. He  _ knew _ he had a good smile.

“Well they’re not lying. Least not about that.” He took a deep drink from his can. Billy wanted to ask what else they could be lying about, he couldn’t think of anything in particular. “Dropped right the fuck out and ended up back here.”

“Like, how come, if you don’t mind me asking?” If he asked about someone else’s pain it would distract from his own. Steve seemed to shuffle in his own skin, barely moving against the floor, tapping his nails against his knee as he thought. “If it's too much…”

“No, it's cool. It's… it's hard to explain. Without sounding completely pathetic.”

“Okay well, you tell one, I'll tell one.” Anything was better than having to just focus on the music. Anything was better than having to relieve one of the worst nights of his life.  _ Anything _ . “Bet you’re super curious about why I’m living in the greatest car in the world…”

It was a lifeline Billy never offered. He hated telling people about his life. All of it. Truly hated it because it always led to the same expression of sorrow, the same sad “sorry”, the same “that sucks man”. Never any real help. Unloading never made him feel better, it just pulled someone else into the disaster. Another weight to carry.

“Alright, you first,” Steve half grinned, took another swig, grabbed another can.

“Alright,” Billy sat up and refreshed his cigarette from one of the packs that had ended up on the table. Took a deep drag before talking again. “My family’s a piece of shit. Your turn.”

“No way man! Nuh uh, you gotta give me more than that.”

“Next round. Your turn.”

Steve rolled his eyes, crossed his legs close to his body, quickly got the game. “Turns out moving away gave me far too much freedom. Why is your family a piece of shit?”

“Cause I’ve been dragged almost every state between here and California for all of my teenage years.” Drink. “Too much freedom how? You knock someone up and run away? Is there a Steve Harrington Jr out there somewhere?”

Steve laughed into his can before taking a drink. “I found ways to deal with my lack of sleep that aren’t so easy to find here.”

Over the course of the next few hours they both hashed out their pitiful stories. The six pack was quickly gone through. So was the one in the fridge. The record had long ended. They were done sharing the vodka by the time everything was out there. By the time Steve explained he suffered from nightmares that had never been addressed, being chased by monsters night after night until he would wake up screaming and cold, how being away from his home and Hawkins, in Chicago, studying a degree he had no interest in or was even smart enough to be eligible for without his dad’s money, meant meeting new people who could supply whatever he needed because of his name. Booze, drugs, pills. Sleeping pills. Explained that the look on his dad’s face when he came home for spring break completely out of his mind had been a turning point for them both. 

“I was pulled before I had even finished getting the bus back. I’d never seen him so disappointed in me. I mean, I know I’m a disappointment anyway but… it just sucked you know?”

Billy explained that Neil was a borderline alcoholic with serious rage issues, that his mom had come to her senses long ago and ditched them both when he was a boy, spilled out the last memory he had of her telling him to be good and leaving in the middle of the night, Billy begging to go with her with all his heart. That it caused him to fight every time the smallest grievance came up with anyone, get kicked out of school over and over. Cause more fights at home. The same stupid cycle. Never really getting close to anyone because they’d just have to move anyway when Neil lost his temper again. Steve gave that same sorry expression everyone he told gave, but Billy was too drunk to care. Rolled his wrist to show off his little scar.

“I got more but he tried to hide them, keep his good reputation so we didn’t have to move again.”

Steve reached out and brushed over it softly before pouring the last of the vodka into two separate cans, taking one and holding it high.

“To fucking up and shitty parents.”

Billy laughed from his gut. Steve’s eyes couldn’t stay still. He raised his own can high into the sky.

“To fucking up and shitty parents.”

At one point one of them had changed the music, it wasn’t just girls who wanted to have fun anymore, and they’d both moved to the gigantic kitchen. Billy leant against a counter, using it for a lot more support than he thought he needed while sitting down, Steve searching the cabinets for snacks. He pulled down boxes of microwave popcorn, took out a bag, shook the dry kernels around before throwing it in the microwave. Billy laughed as he then sunk to his knees to be at eye level with the door.

“What? I can’t tell if they’re popped otherwise,” Steve slurred, chin on the countertop as he punched in the numbers, one eye closed to concentrate harder.

“You can’t tell by the sound or the fact it might be burning if it’s too done?”

“Obviously fucking not professor genius up there!” He hit the go button and the microwave blinked into life. Steve stayed at exactly eye level the whole time. “Think I’d stay down here, where it's comfortable, if I didn't have too?” His ribs were being poked by drawer handles. It didn’t look comfortable at all. But Billy conceded and looked through the fridge. He found a bottle of champagne in the back, behind some unopened Miracle Whip.

“Oh hell yes,” he muttered to himself as he got it out. Steve looked over, his eyes went comically wide.

“Oh no dude that’s from my parents’ wedding anniversary! I’ll get in so much shit if it's gone.”

That wasn’t even an option anymore. Billy had found champagne flutes, nice crystal ones that he somehow didn’t manage to break, and was busy working the foil off from around the cork, doing his best not to tear it too badly with drunken thumbs.

“And? I thought they were never home. We just keep the bottle, fill it up with water or shitty wine or piss or whatever and put it all back in the morning. They’ll never know, honest! Oldest trick in the book.”

The microwave beeping distracted Steve just long enough for Billy to pop the cork so he didn’t have a choice in the matter. With the popcorn retrieved they both sat at the kitchen table, bag between them and champagne poured. Billy had never gotten drunk off it before, the taste was pretty sharp but compared to straight vodka mixed in a beer can it was favourable. They both ate handfuls of salted popcorn, warm and dry, sat opposite each other. Steve chewed quietly, the odd kernel falling from his fist onto the table. 

“So how long you stuck here for?” Billy asked, closing one eye to top up his glass even though it wasn’t even half empty yet. “Or is this town like a horror movie? You can never leave until the curse is lifted and the skulls are buried back in their graves or some shit.”

Steve cleared his throat loudly, held one finger up while he did so, and obviously attempted to do his best impression of his father. “You’re here until I say so, until you can be trusted again. You’ll work at the restaurant so you can be kept an eye on.” He wagged his finger sternly towards Billy’s chest. “And cut your dang hair, a Harrington needs to look respectable!” Billy lost it at that. He snorted while trying to drink and champagne flew up his nose. It burnt but made them both laugh harder. “How come you’re still here? Man if I could get away I’d be long gone by now.”

“No money. Plus I’m sick of moving around. I’m doing it once more and that’s it. I’m done packing my shit into a box. Couple months and I can disappear.”

Steve nodded slow, flicking kernels into his mouth one by one, looked like he was thinking but never said about what exactly.

“You gonna try college again?” Billy started doing the same. One by one. Inhale, exhale. Flick, flick.

Steve shook his head, hair starting to fall flat finally. More like who he probably really was. “I’m not smart enough for that. Only reason I got in was cause my dad went there and donated a lot of money to make sure I did. It kinda sucked anyway, only really wanted to go to get away from here. The people were nice. Some were real nice…” he grinned before letting the last of the kernels in his hand fall into his mouth.

Billy chuckled remembering something Tommy had said.  _ Wannabe ladies man. _ “Oh yeah? College girls as easy as high school ones or do they all just fall for the charms of King Steve?”

Steve laughed. He had a really nice laugh. “First of all, fuck you! Second of all, it depends.”

“On what? Dick size? You lacking down there bud?” Billy reached over the table and held Steve’s hands before they went back in the popcorn bag, pulled his best sympathetic expression but couldn’t hold it through the whole sentence before his grin came back, teeth on full show. “It’s okay if you have a small dick, it affects some guys apparently, it's a genetic thing.”

“Oh my god! Then third of all, fucking ew, I don’t need to think about my dad’s dick  _ ever _ . And fourth, no I fucking don’t have a small dick, asshole. Never got any complaints.” He took his hands back and flicked salt at Billy’s face, his own set into a playful scowl. Expect there wasn’t any real salt on the popcorn so it was a completely pointless hand movement.

“Chicks don’t complain though, they just fake it and tell their friends so you never get laid again.” Or so Billy had heard. He didn’t have much physical experience with girls, aside from Suzie Attkins in fourth grade who was his first kiss. And even then that had been a dare under the slide. They’d ‘dated’ for a whole recess, it was extremely serious, and totally counted.

The chair creaked slightly as Steve sat back with his glass, a grin slowly but surely taking over his whole face. “I never said just chicks…” 

Billy matched his movements, sat back and grinned with his glass. His heart, however, started hammering. On the outside he knew he shouldn’t care about whatever was about to come out of Steve’s mouth. But on the inside he cared a lot. A hell of a lot. He should have been stopping this dead, pretend to be grossed out or something. But Steve was kind, a little bit dumb, more than a little bit clumsy, and most definetely liked Bananarama. Plus he knew how hard it was to just be yourself, who you actually wanted to be and be seen as, that even though Steve was incredibly drunk, as was he, it still took guts to even think about going where this was going. 

But he couldn’t just totally sober up and take this seriously.

“They do measuring contests as hazing now? They never put that in the movies.”

Steve laughed one of those laughs that made him slap his knee. “You’re a piece of shit dude! I’m trying to like, bare my soul here.”

“Then bare away, you’re the one being all dramatic sitting back and shit like you’re a weird villain.”

“This doesn’t leave us. I mean it. I’ve spent my life in this town, I don’t want any more stories out about me.” Billy crossed his heart. “Not that there’s really anything to tell, just hooked up with this guy at a party. It was kinda nice though. He was like… meaty.”

“Meaty? He was  _ meaty _ ? Fuck, you got a real way with words Harrington, Jesus.”

“What? I don't know how else to describe it other than, it was nice, he had like, a thick tongue, and his dick was nice, but smaller than mine so I know mine ain’t small, so don’t even start with that again!”

Billy picked up the bottle off the table, swirled it around and poured the last few drops of champagne into his glass, chuckling to himself, doing his best not to imagine Steve pressed between a bathroom wall and some guy, probably as drunk as he was currently, getting his rocks off with some handsy college sweater wearing jock.

Trying very hard not to imagine  _ any _ of that. None of it. None at all.

Billy drank the glass in one. Time to put up or shut up. The final bridge of trust.

“Yeah. Guys can be like that. Bigger hands.  _ Meaty… _ ” he chuckled but avoided Steve’s gaze, hoped that even though he was completely hammered he’d get the hints Billy was putting down. He didn’t like coming out to people, prefered them to just find out, it was filled with so much drama. But Steve had been honest with him when he really didn’t have to reveal anything, could have easily shrugged it off, but drunk people are the most honest.

So time to be honest back.

Waiting for the penny to drop took what felt like forever. Steve’s deep browns went a little wide, mouth making a little innocent ‘o’.

“Shit man, really? But. You’ve got like girls falling over themselves for you at work. I’m almost jealous of the attention you get sometimes.”

Billy shrugged. “Dunno what to tell you…”

There was a moment of silence before Steve leaned forward again, drained his glass too, and put his elbows on the table, fingers all up in his hair almost like he was trying to keep his head up from falling into the empty popcorn bag. “So you’ll get it then. Like, thick tongues. I didn’t even know tongues could be thick but it was  _ thick _ , you know?”

Acceptance. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A longer chapter to make up for the previous short one.
> 
> It's my biggest headcannon than Steve would adore music. Get used to that. Also, if you think he hasn't danced to Voulez-Vous by ABBA in his kitchen half drunk at three in the morning you're totally wrong. Fight me.
> 
> [Tumblr page.](https://bird-in-a-cage.tumblr.com/) Come ask me stuff! Questions and comments about Steve's music catalogue is more than allowed cause I have a lot of ideas.


	5. Chapter 5

Billy often dreamt of the beach. Could still remember from a time long ago where the cool water would lap over his bare toes, wet sand sticking to his skin, salt in the breeze that drifted through his hair. There was never anyone else around. The sun was always shining. The rest of the world was far off in the distance. Billy in his boyhood frame, protected by the bubble of his making. It was all perfect. On bad nights the bubble would fall away, the ocean would draw back leaving him dry, he would feel a cold hand on his shoulder that he had felt many times before, and be pulled into remembering the night his mother left their home, how she had hugged his head, brushed her fingers through his short curls, and told him to be good in a quiet, tearful, whisper before leaving. How when she was gone he bawled his eyes out for days, not yet understanding why she had gone. Which then grew into not understanding why she didn’t take him, why he was left with a monster.

This night however, was a good night. He was sat in the sand, feeling it melt and move between his fingers as he grabbed great handfuls of it to throw into the ocean as it rolled around his knees, short legs outstretched into the great, big, beautiful, blue unknown. Bright orange fish were trapped by the edge of the current but came right onto land, saying hello before swimming back with the tide that never came any closer or moved further away.

A sharp, panicked scream popped his bubble. He woke suddenly in the guest room, head hanging off the bed, arm draped to the floor. The world was quiet. The Harrington house was always quiet at night, almost suffocatingly so thanks to the woodland outside. Billy had been spending more and more nights in the guest room, he’d almost moved some of his clothes into the closet. If they didn’t work at different start times he was sure he and Steve would drive to work together at this point. He rolled back into the bed and stared up at the ceiling, listening for anything, starting to drift back to the beach that was calling to him when there was nothing but silence.

The scream rang out again. Clear as day. Billy’s fight response kicked in, he quickly got out of bed and went to investigate the noise. Downstairs was quiet so not a theft in progress, not that he really cared about any of the Harrington possession getting stolen. So he checked on the only other logical source.

Carefully he pushed Steve’s door open. He’d never really been into Steve’s room aside from the initial house tour, he didn’t really have a reason too. Ever. Even through the dark of the room Billy could see Steve, blankets and sheets kicked free from himself on the bed, fists curled white into what was left, long legs far away from his body like they were protecting him from something unknown, wet from a cold sweat, head craned back painfully so his neck was exposed and open. His rapid pulse was visable through his skin. Billy quietly went inside, the fight response dying down, and shook Steve awake from his dream. Steve gasped loudly, grabbed Billy by the arm tight enough to leave a red mark, nearly a bruise, eyes wide, pupils blown out so only the slimmest brown circle remained. He stared and panted hard for what felt like hours, until his body slowly came down to normal, he relaxed his grip on Billy’s arm but didn’t let go.

Steve had talked about his nightmares a few times, but Billy had never seen it before. Never heard it before. Only knew they happened because in the morning Steve would be on the couch, TV playing white noise, wrapped in the burnt orange blanket he seemed to adore. Billy wanted to say something, wanted to comfort his friend but the words wouldn’t form, even basic sounds wouldn’t form. He knew Steve wouldn’t want to stay in this room any longer, so he did what he was growing to be quite good at. With a gentle tug he had Steve on his feet, supporting his weight as they went down the stairs, Steve physically trembling against him, and turned towards the kitchen to make them some food. Not that he was at all hungry, and he doubted Steve was either, but that’s why they called it ‘comfort food’ right?

And boy, did Steve look like he needed comforting.

The clock above the kitchen door read 4 am. Perfect time for breakfast.

He left Steve at the table, retrieved the blanket and draped it over his shoulders. Steve’s hands curled into it like an old friend, keeping his head down. Beaten. Billy tied his hair up with the scrunchie he now had nearly permanently around his wrist if it wasn’t already in his hair, a growing habit from work, and started making french toast, his body working automatically so he could keep half his attention on the boy at the table, make sure he wasn’t about to stab himself with a candlestick or anything. The kitchen quickly smelled warm and inviting, a millions miles away from upstairs. He heard Steve shuffle a couple of times, but never to stand, just making himself more comfortable. Billy put a plate in each of their spots, maple syrup, sugar dusting, the whole nine yards, got them glasses of water before sitting. Steve didn’t look as scared anymore. He looked broken apart, shattered. His eyes had gone back to a normal size, hands ever so slightly uncurled from the blanket folds.

“You don’t have to tell me what happened,” Billy started, breaking the silence of the room, “but if you want too, I’ll listen.” He started to eat before the food went cold. It was a few minutes before Steve started to do the same. Didn’t stop until he had practically licked the plate clean.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” he said quietly, ashamed. Turned into a scared boy.

“Are you kidding? I’m always up this early making myself breakfast. Not my fault you’re never around to see it,” Billy grinned around his last forkful of toast, dripping with syrup, hoping to just alleviate the tension of the moment. That it didn’t matter he’d seen Steve in probably at his most private. The little half smile he got was all the proof he needed that it had worked.

“Just… that was a bad one…” Steve talked to the table, his deep browns never really leaving the wood finishing.

“You wanna talk about it?” Billy offered. A lifeline. He was offering them more and more lately. Steve shrugged and scratched at his neck, leaving faint red nail marks along its length, along the blue artery that lived under his pale skin. Trying to forget.

“You gonna make me french toast every time if I don’t?” The half smile. Sugar doing its job. Wonderful serotonin at work for a brief moment. “I dunno, it's just, it's hard to explain, there are… there are these things. Like… it's like being strangled by an octopus, but instead of suckers its blunt teeth. And instead of an octopus it's this pink mound of wet flesh thirty feet tall. And I can feel it biting me everywhere. And I can never get away. But it’s grip gets tighter and tighter until I can’t breathe. The bites get deeper until I can feel them  _ inside _ me, just chewing away at my organs. And all I can do is scream until its grip is so tight I can’t...” Steve put his elbows on the table, smile long gone, rested his head in his hands. “I always wake up before it eats me alive completely… It’s so real… It's always so real...”. Billy could tell he was trying hard not to cry, pushing the heels of his palms into his eyes in frustration. He couldn’t imagine having to feel that every night, night after night, for years. Billy only had to suffer during the day, sleep was safe. A break.

No wonder he always looked so tired.

“It’s so stupid, but I can’t… I can’t grow out of it.” Mr Harrington’s words left Steve’s lips. Not for a second did Billy believe that he had never tried to tell anyone, to get help, hell with how loud he screamed he had probably woken his parents up the few times had they cared to be home. His fears had just been dismissed as childishness and been allowed to grow and grow unchecked. Steve’s monster ate him alive every night. “It’s why I turned to pills man, I just…”. He swallowed thick and the conversation died. Fists ground deeper. Billy sighed softly. He didn’t know exactly what Steve was going through but he could at least attempt to understand it.

“I get it. We all have our coping mechanisms.”

Billy liked to fight. Liked to get so in someone’s face they had no choice but to lash out at him, so he could start swinging back. Every opponent turned into what he’d like to do to Neil. It's why he always prided himself on winning. Victory was a few loose teeth and a black eye. A feeling he was better for once.

“I don’t… I’m trying not too, but it’s hard…”. Steve let his hands fall, eyes red and wet. “It’s so fucking hard.”

Billy got up from the table and did something he hadn’t done in a very long time. He went round to Steve’s side and hugged his head up against his stomach. The same way his mother had done for him before she left forever. Gently stroked through his hair. With the power of hindsight it was a gesture that made him feel cold to remember it, but at the time it was the most wonderful thing to recieve when he had gotten scared at night or scraped his knee on the sidewalk. Steve relinquished almost immediately, his shoulders sagging and his arms coming up to grip the back of Billy’s shirt he wore to sleep. Defeated. Not an ounce of fight left in his tired body. Two little spots getting damp on Billy’s stomach with tears.

Like he hadn’t been hugged in years. Neither of them had.

“It’s alright, I’ve got you…”

\---

Billy was a man of his word when it came to people he cared about, which were few and far between. He’d never officially promised Steve anything, but it felt like it. He’d thought about a few ways to maybe help. Drugs were completely off the table, because as far as Billy knew you couldn’t replace one addiction with another. He wasn’t even sure how bad Steve had gotten with it all but it still didn’t sit right in his gut, and he didn’t want to ask too much about it and reopen old wounds. Leave it in the past. Drinking seemed to help but really there was only so much of that they could do before it became another problem altogether, and Billy didn’t want to get trapped in Hawkins via the bottom of a bottle. The best thing he could do was listen. Just listen when Steve talked about music he liked; why The Human League was better than Depeche Mode but they were both pretty good, how he didn’t really care for Michael Jackson but would admit the songs were very catchy, how much he  _ loved _ David Bowie and Queen, how no good bands ever came to Indiana like they didn’t know it existed, how he’d like to travel to England one day to attend Glastonbury Festival because they get all the best musicians over there, how he’d woken up early, taken the day off school, and sat glued in front of the TV all day to watch Live Aid like it was the greatest thing that ever happened. Billy vaguely remembered watching some of it, but he certainly didn’t wake up at 7am to watch  _ all _ of it.

Basically, Steve  _ really _ liked music. And it was clear that he hadn’t really had anyone to actually talk too since high school. So Billy filled that hole. And Steve filled the silence quite happily. They would sit up after work most nights, a different record playing with a couple of cold cans, Steve laid out on the couch, fingers working overtime in the air above his head as he dotted each chord change, each progression, each change of drum beat that would rattle through to his toes just tapping away. It was like he was a living speaker with added commentary. Billy did sometimes have to tell him that if Steve talked he couldn’t hear  _ what _ he was talking about. In the nicest possible way. But the talking did seem to help. Only occasionally would Billy come down and see that horrendous blanket over Steve’s shoulders. Very rarely would he actually hear the screams. On those nights he would take himself into Steve’s room, turn every light on and wait out the panic that consumed every inch of the room, the light banishing it back in the corners, talk about what Steve had in his room, which wasn’t much, mostly about how the wallpaper gave him a headache and he should change it. He would sit on the floor to start with, then on the bed, back against the bed frame, arm out for Steve to grip like a vice as he came back to earth in one piece.

One time he spotted a strip of photos from one of those machines you’d find at the mall, clearly from years ago, tucked into a photo frame. Steve and that girl he had under his arm in high school, pulling faces at each other and just carefree. In the last one they were kissing. They looked happy. Really happy. Billy wondered if she had done what he was doing, coaching Steve through his nightmares, listening to him rattle on about Prince and Tears for Fears, making sure he didn’t die alone in the mansion or drive himself to the madhouse, if the nightmares were even that bad then. The grip on his arm faded a little as Steve moved, caught Billy staring at the photo strip.

“That’s Nancy. Old high school girlfriend…” Steve mumbled tiredly. Coming back to reality. “I thought she was the one…”

Billy didn’t mean to chuckle but couldn’t stop the noise leaving his mouth. Maybe trying to subconsciously lighten the mood. “Didn’t circum to your charms pretty boy?”

The mattress springs creaked a little as Steve shook his head on the pillow. “I was a lotta work… Dumped me for some guy I was a total jerk too… karama right?” He sighed and let go of Billy’s arm, sat up more, ready to get out of bed and go downstairs to complete the circle of routine.

“Looks like a prissy bitch.” Billy looked at Steve when he laughed tiredly. The lamp by the bed caught him in a way that really highlighted years of broken sleep and just sheer mental exhaustion. But it also caught the little pout his lips seemed to wear more often than not, created shadows of his hair across his cheeks as it lay flat, molded by the pillow.

Billy had known for a while he was fucked, but in these quiet moments, where it really was only the two of them in the world, in Steve’s childhood bedroom, he knew he was  _ truly _ fucked. He knew it was only a matter of time before they’d never see each other again, Billy would be long gone and leaving this dead town in his rearview as fast as he could get away with, but he wondered sometimes, just sometimes, how hard it would be to convince Steve to come with him. They both wanted out after all. Sometimes he would catch himself staring at little things; how Steve smoked so fast after work it was like he didn’t want a break, how when he was happy he’d get so much more animated and his fingers would fly through the air, how he would drop things but somehow manage to catch them before they hit the floor, how he always took twenty minutes to do his hair before a shift or even just to leave the house, how he always tied his shoes right then left no matter which one he put on first, how he was a master at twirling objects in his hands. He wondered how soft that hair was, if his skin felt different in the sunlight, if the little moles on the back of his hand felt different to the ones on his neck. If they tasted different.

Billy didn’t dare speak about any of it. He couldn’t. Not that he was afraid Steve would suddenly be disgusted at him, because he knew otherwise, but that he would still be treated differently somehow. If only subtly. No more long nights listening to Bowie’s back catalogue, no more stupid in jokes about how Bigfoot probably lived in the woods behind the house because something weird had to live in there for the town to be so creepy all the damn time. He didn’t want things to change, but at the same time he would find himself wanting to wrap Steve up in his arms, kiss his nightmares away, make him feel that it truly was going to be okay. Billy had him. He wanted to treat Steve how no one had treated him. Be open and honest. But he forced it down, hoped Steve didn’t notice the longer than usual glances he sometimes forgot to keep in check.

Sometimes he could swear Steve stared back.

Another thing about Steve that was real easy to notice, was that the boy hated sitting in chairs. He would sit almost anywhere but a chair if given the choice. Billy still had the hand marks on his arm like indian burns as they sat on the kitchen floor, each with a mug of coffee and empty cereal bowls. It wasn’t comfortable at all. It hurt to sit on cold, bare, tile. Steve had his long legs stretched out in front of him like he had no feeling below his waist, both hands around his mug. No blanket this time.

The clock read 5:30 am.

“How come you still got her picture? That prissy bitch?” Billy asked, nodding to upstairs. Not that he cared. At all. Just making conversation.

“Who? Nance?” Steve shrugged to himself, looked at the coffee in his mug like it held all the answers. Reading coffee beans. “Habit? Guess I just never took it down…”

“Uh huh. And your real answer Romeo?”

Steve laughed a little before he got serious. “Cause I really thought she was the one. She was smart, kind, still is I think. I dunno, we never kept in contact after high school. And I was such a fucking  _ jerk _ . All I cared about was being popular. I wasn’t great in classes, but I was good at sports and people liked me. And I liked being liked...”

“King Steve.”

“King  _ fucking _ Steve,” he echoed sadly and took a sip of coffee. “She was way too good for me. I deserved to have my heart broken. A lot sooner than it when happened. I guess I keep it to remind me not to be a jerk anymore?”. He let his head hang a little more, took another sip.

“You need pictures to remind you of that? You really are stupid,” Billy joked. It made Steve laugh so it worked.

“Oh like you’ve never had your heart broken before Mr California Dreamin.”

“No, not really,” he answered honestly. Steve was one of the few people in the whole world he could be honest with. Really honest, no bullshit. But he wasn't about to mention his 14 year old boyfriend from all those years ago. “Hard to get really attached when you only see someone for a few hours.”

“Not even in school or anything? Never had your eye on anyone?”

Billy laughed at that. “I barely went to that shithole! I got suspended for lighting a cigarette off a bunsen burner cause I wanted out for the week, wasn’t exactly a star student.”

“Fuck off! That was you?!” Steve’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he laughed. “I remember hearing about that. Fuck, hang on… fuck wait I remember you. You had that denim jacket right? You were an  _ asshole _ by all stories.”

Billy took a little bow, still sitting down, grin on full display. “Which is one of the many reasons why I never got into anything serious with the hillbilly farm boys in this fucking town.” It wasn’t as if that, deep down, he kind of wanted to. That he wanted someone to break through his tough guy front and  _ want _ him, make him feel like he was worth something. But he wasn’t stupid. No one was going to stick their necks on the line and not only  _ come out of the closet  _ but then be seen hanging around with him, the guy who liked to start fights for fun and break shit for an extra sprinkle on top. It was never going to happen, so Billy learnt not to expect it. One time hook ups weren’t that bad. 

“Guess I don’t really ever see it like that. What with being born here. We all really that bad?” Steve smiled a little, not really looking at Billy properly, but there was heat behind it. Shyness maybe? Was Harrington flirting? No, he couldn’t be. Billy was definitely imagining things. Wishful thinking. Stockholm Syndrome from being here so long.

Billy swallowed down pointless hope and drained the last of the coffee in his mug.  _ Play it cool. _ “I guess some of you are alright.” He couldn’t stop the little smile that came at the end of the sentence, the eye roll. “I guess.”

\---

Living in the Harrington household was probably the best thing that could have happened to Billy’s turn of luck. The bed sure as hell beat the worn leather of the Camaro, and even though in the middle of the night, before Steve woke up, the house was downright spooky in it’s staunch silence, it was secure. It wasn’t going anywhere. There wasn’t the potential for someone to knock on the window and demand money at knife point. Since the occasional overnight had turned into more of a roommate situation, they both shared chores to keep themselves from living in total squallar. The first week was a rough learning curve that it’s probably not a good idea to just leave empty beer and soda cans and full ashtrays on _every_ surface. It had taken them all day to clean the place from top to bottom. After that they had gotten a lot better at keeping on top of things.

One of Billy’s least favourite chores was shopping. He completely hated it, would rather be wrist deep in a blocked up sink than pushing a cart around, holding a quickly scrawled together list of stuff they needed, trying to read Steve’s chicken scratch handwriting.

Steve gave him the Harrington family credit card every time.  _ “They told me to use it whenever, so fuck it right?” _

Even with all the money in the world in his pocket, Billy kept to his task. They both knew he could easily run off and never look back. Hell he’d have enough to hide away for years, re-emerge as a jeans model maybe when funds started to run a little dry. Or when Harrington Sr. decided to check his account for once and cut it off. It was hard to shop like he had money, he knew he did, but he would still pick up the cheaper items first. They were just as good, he’d grown up eating almost nothing name brand apart from cereal and even then that was more of a coupon only situation. He knew his family wasn’t poor, but Neil was cheap, and that had rubbed off on him. Why spend $2 on something when you can get the same thing for 79c?

Steve didn’t like the job in case he ran into anyone he knew. He didn’t want to have to explain over and over that he was a college drop out and, yeah, he was working for his parents, just like he never wanted too. He had far more connections in this town than Billy did, so it was understandable.

It was when he was packing the full grocery bags into his trunk that he spotted the car, parked on the other side of the lot. A brown 1970 Ford ltd Country Squire. 

Neil’s car.

Billy had been dragged further and further into hell in the back of that wagon. Even though he hadn’t stepped foot in it since buying his own, he could still smell the old flaking leather, the varnish on the wood panelling inside and out, could still hear how the wheel would creek when Neil would squeeze it in anger at a wrong turning or another driver going at the speed limit when he didn’t want to. It still had the same, stupid, pine tree air freshener hanging from the rearview that had been there so long it no longer gave out a smell. Just for appearances. Like so many other things. Billy froze looking at it, flooded with memories of being screamed at in the back seat for stretching his legs out and accidentally kicking the front seat, for daring to eat anything that made crumbs. For accidently, kind of on purpose, spilling a soda that one time. He tightened the grip on his keys in his hand, the metal digging into the soft flesh of his palms. Felt the coil winding impossibly tight. The monster he had started to bury deep deep down coming back to life and taking over. Before he could stop and think he was crossing the parking lot, the keys digging in tighter, finding their way between his fingers like a spiked brass knuckle. God he hated that car. Red started to flood his vision.

He  _ hated _ that car.

He didn’t know what he was going to do, punch the windows out, scratch it all to hell in broad daylight, set fire to it maybe, but it was something, maybe everything. It had been a long time since his last fight, last good fight. He wanted Neil to come out and find it, give him shit for it so Billy could snap back and let loose. More than just that one punch before he left. Pay back for years of abuse. Eye for an eye. The monster clawed at his insides to just go wild and destroy something. This car. The car he hated. The car he had been put into the backseat of and driven to the next shit town away from the last. The car that tore him away from what was becoming normal and into the next new unknown. A strange new house, a strange new school, a strange new accent, a strange new family. The same car and the same piece of shit owner.

If it wasn’t for an employee collecting carts that knocked Billy out of his freight train of thought god knows what he would have done. The sound of metal hitting off each other loud, right next to him, was enough for a second of distraction. He found himself panting hard in anger, keys almost drawing blood he was holding onto them so tight. He turned tail and went back to his Camaro, started her up and sped off, away from the black cloud of memories and that wood panelled piece of hell. But the coil was still tight, the monster was awake and lively, kicking and screaming like a demon. His grip tightened on the wheel as he went into autopilot, drove back to the Harrington mansion and parked in the street, knuckles white as he screamed at the wheel and kicked at the floor, punched at the roof hard enough to hear the metal creak, the leather whine on the dash. None of it was enough. Slamming doors wasn’t going to be enough, breaking pretty glass vases wasn’t going to be enough. Rage flooded his system. Everything red and angry all because of that stupid, wood covered, car.

A small knock on the window brought him back down for a moment. He turned to look at Steve peering in, who had taken a step back when Billy had moved. Startled.

“You okay? You’ve been out here for like an hour…” Steve said, muffled by the window. Billy started to breathe heavily, trying to calm down. His hands were shaking. He just nodded and looked forward. Took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Counted to ten. Counted to twenty. Counted to thirty. Counted so long Steve had taken the groceries inside and was putting them away by the time Billy ventured in, the world swaying from side to side. He could still feel himself standing on the edge, it would be so easy to just slam Harrington’s head into the counter and start something. So, so easy. He was sure Harrington would fight back. From his stories it sounded like he wasn’t a stranger to a challenge or two, being king of high school and all. But Billy wanted a brawl. He wanted teeth and snot and blood across the freshly mopped kitchen tiles, didn’t care whose it was, as long as it was there, wanted split knuckles and broken noses and black eyes that would take weeks to fade. He wanted to howl and feel blood in the back of his throat. The monster laughing in his ears, goading him on. 

_ Just do it. Steal his money and run already. Get the fuck out of here! _

Watching Steve pull an almost completely melted tub of ice cream from one of the bags pushed him back to earth. Hard. Hearing him chuckle softly and turn and say “You know how to make milkshakes right?” knocked all the wind out of him in a swift one two blow.

He couldn’t fight Harrington. He’d been nice enough to let Billy into his  _ not _ haunted mansion, let him use it like Billy had lived here for years. Didn’t mind about smoking indoors though he was sure Steve’s parents would kill them both for the smell getting into their expensive fabrics, didn’t mind when he used up every pan in the kitchen practicing something for work so he could be better at it, didn’t mind sharing pretty much his whole life with a guy who was on the verge of hightailing it out of town. Somedays Steve was the only thing that kept him going. When customers were driving him crazy with recooks even though what he’d made before had been perfect, Billy would think about what stupid album Steve was going to put on that night, what lesson in music history he was going to teach him, how long would it take Tom Selleck to catch the bad guy this time. It made him happy. The dumb, clumsy, doe eyed, doe legged, soft haired, beauty marked skinned, pretty boy he wanted to share more than this town with. The one that calmed his monsters, made him feel useful for once and not a burden for simply being around.

He couldn’t fight Steve. He couldn’t if he tried.

Still trembling with adrenaline, Billy tied his hair back without thought, took the near liquid chocolate ice cream and dumped it into the blender with milk and peanut butter, mixed and poured the liquid into two tall glasses, took one and went outside to sit on the back step and smoked so hard it burnt this throat. One became two became three in a quick chain. The shakes under his skin slowly subsided.

That stupid brown car.

Billy didn’t realise Steve was standing behind him until he felt a nudge on the back of his shoulder from a bony knee cap. “You gonna tell me what happened or keep being all dark and mysterious down there?”. He spoke soft, like he cared. He  _ did _ care. Billy loved that he cared.

Billy hung his head and scratched at the back of his neck, running over the words in his head. Even internally it sounded stupid, to get so wound up and nearly blow everything over something so small. “I… I almost ran into…”  _ Neil _ . “My dad.”

Steve stepped forward carefully and sat on what was left of the step. Half his glass was empty, hair scooped back from his face with a thin, hot pink, hair band running across the top of his head that he got from god knows where. Gave Billy another cigarette when he was running low and lit one up himself.

That one Billy smoked slower, insides scratched and bruised, his ribs ached like he’d been kicked from his lungs.

“You wanna talk about it?” Steve offered, smoking just as slow. Probably his first that day. Maybe second. Steve liked to talk, Billy didn’t. Not usually. But with Steve it was different.

The air was humid outside. Again. 

“It’s… it's a lot. A lot.”

Inhale.

Exhale.

Steve stretched out before pulling his knees up, resting his arm on them, giving Billy all the attention in the world. “I’ve got time if you do.”

_ I’ve got you. _

Billy matched Steve’s body, both arms resting on his knees as he looked out at the pool, the two loungers that were always by it. Never three. Billy sighed out, leant his head back against the wall, and talked. Damn near spilled his guts. Steve knew the basics from before, knew that Neil was a piece of shit, so would hopefully understand how just seeing a car would spark so much rage and fire it nearly burnt down everything he had worked so hard to build up, nearly sent him straight back to square one. He was honest about wanting to slam Steve’s head into the counter, expecting that to get some kind of rise, but it didn’t. Steve was calm and just listened. Finished his cigarette and ground the filter out on the step between his legs. Billy’s tongue was dry by the time he’d stopped talking. Steve put his arm around Billy and pulled. He fell easily on Steve’s shoulder. Needed comfort. Even just a little bit. Steve smelt like Polo Sport.

“I’m sorry you got landed with a total cunt.,” Steve said easily, trying to lift the mood. “Like, really sorry. But thanks for not giving me brain damage. I  _ really _ appreciate that.”

Billy laughed genuinely, took another drag, blew the smoke away from Steve’s face to be polite. “Yeah well, god knows you don’t need to be any dumber.”

The monster had gone away, crawled back into hiding, that delicate feeling taking over again, and flowing calm through every part. The will to survive and carry on. Steve didn’t push him away, even when he drank more of his milkshake or just watched the dense treeline intently. They’d been quiet for a while. Comfortable. Billy had stopped shaking, the last of the rage disappearing.

“You think he’s watching us?” Steve spoke to the trees, brown eyes narrowed suspiciously. Billy flicked his filter towards the pool.

“Who, Bigfoot?”. Steve just nodded. “Oh probably. God knows what he does in there all day. Probably beats off just watching us do nothing.”

“Hey asshole!” Steve yelled at the trees. They stayed silent. Not even birds replied. Billy knew he was just trying to cheer him up, and it was working. Steve was an delightful idiot, but he didn’t  _ actually _ believe Bigfoot was out there. At least not in Hawkins anyway. “We know you’re in there! You’d better stay hidden! You don’t wanna know what we’d do to you!”

Billy laughed, his belly hurt as it vibrated through him. It was just stupid enough to knock the last piece of him back into place and forget about Neil and that car. Steve was good at that. Really good. Steve ended up laughing too. They were both idiots.

_ I got you. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [Neil's car for anyone that needs a visual referance.](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/fa/5a/6c/fa5a6c31c7ab4853ffa35c7baa9b092b.jpg) Moving from place to place I imagine they'd need a big family car. And the 70s made some ugly cars that's for sure.
> 
> [Tumblr.](https://bird-in-a-cage.tumblr.com/)


	6. Chapter 6

Summer was slowly coming to an end. Though it was still horrifically humid it was getting less so everyday. Smoke breaks were becoming more bearable. The air conditioner in the kitchen was still broken. Midweek was the restaurant's slowest days, and, because of his growing skill, it had become just Billy and Benny running the ship. Carol didn’t seem to mind, Tommy less so. They both talked about having plans outside Hawkins but neither seemed to really act on them. Maybe Tommy was just going to live in his mom’s basement forever, maybe Carol was just waiting for someone rich to come back from college and sweep her away? Billy didn’t know. Didn’t really want to ask. What he did know was that, what started as just a job, became something of a passion. Almost. He wouldn’t ever say he was obsessed with food or could suddenly taste a million different flavours in a dish like it was a new superpower, but it was something he could pour real effort into. Hear a result from servers coming back and telling him his dish was good.

Benny was a good teacher. He taught Billy how to properly hold a knife, to chop rather than stab, how to always have a rag on hand because handles got hot, how mistakes happen but as long as the public don’t see it, they don’t matter. 

That one hit home the hardest. School had taught Billy to be perfect the first time or what was the point. If he wasn’t perfect the first time at this thing he would fall behind for being perfect for the next time for the next thing. And the one after that. And the one after that until he had learnt not to care and slumped into a comfortable C- groove. He wasn’t stupid, not by a long shot, he just didn’t care. Neil expected the same. He always expected perfection out of everything. Wanted the perfect life, the perfect job, the perfect house. Got remarried to have the perfect family. Billy didn’t fit in that mold. Always an extra on the outside. Susan quickly whipped into submission to accept it, turned Billy into nothing more than a babysitter for a stepsister he learned to resent. Just adding anger on top of anger. But, in the kitchen, being perfect the first time didn’t matter. The customer didn’t know if their piece of salmon was the first attempt or the fourth, they got their food when it was good and were happy with the result. That was all that mattered. Billy could live with that kind of outlook.

Benny was also good in a way he could read Billy’s mind somehow. He’d be itching for a cigarette and be told to go take a break, he’d be thirsty and a glass of water would appear. He’d been mulling over how to ask for a reference for a few days, the money was building up nicely in the glovebox, only a paycheck more to go and it was bye bye Hawkins. He’d been watching Benny move around the space out of the corner of his eye, tongue tied with how to ask. Normally he wouldn’t care how he came across, but Benny had earned his respect and respected him in return. Very few people did. 

_ “Oh, hey, thanks for putting a bunch of time and effort into me but, I’m gonna be skipping out soon and ditching this place. Any chance you could write me a reference so I can get a better job elsewhere?” _

_ “Hey, fuck this place right? Can I get a reference so I work in California?” _

“I’m not gonna get offended if you leave you know,” Benny spoke over the crackling radio. “I knew you weren’t gonna stick around.”

Billy chuckled but kept his head down, focusing on dicing up carrots. “That obvious?”

“You got the look of a runway. From day one. No one who’s gonna stick around turns up looking like you did.”  Benny had a point there. Looking back just turning up like he was going for a night out somewhere with not even all the buttons on his shirt done up probably wasn’t the most professional look. “What’s your plan then?”

Billy shrugged like it hadn’t consumed nearly all of his thoughts since first escaping out of that window. “Head back to California probably. Not sure where yet.”

He did. Santa Cruz. It burnt in his soul like a beacon. He’d been on a day trip to the beach there as a child with his mother. It had taken hours, tucked up in her little blue car in the early hours of the morning to spend the whole day there, but it was worth it. It had been the first time he’d tried surfing. The first time in a long time he wasn’t worried about Neil finding them and ruining the fun because they were so far from home. Untouchable. Billy wiped out in the ocean more times than he would ever admit to anyone, but it didn’t matter how many lungs of salt water he swallowed, it was fun. His mom cheered from the shore the very few times he stood on the rented board, wrapped him up in a scratchy towel and fed him cold juice whenever he came onto land. It was a cluster of wonderful memories that called his name, begged him to return to the white sands and rolling waves. One of the last few blissful days before it all went to shit.

Benny nodded in the silence. Didn’t ask anything more. “You’ll get a good word from me, don’t worry.”

“Thank you,” Billy said honestly. Benny nodded again and they both got back to work with nothing more to say.

He received the letter a few days later, clearly written on a typewriter and hand signed. Billy read it on his break. It was better than any school report he’d ever gotten, he actually felt touched to read it, that someone thought as highly of him as what was written on the page. ‘Hard working’, and ‘quick learner’, and ‘ _reliable_ ’. No one had ever thought of Billy as reliable before. He re-read it over and over just to make sure it was real and his eyes weren’t playing tricks on him. Didn’t notice when Steve turned up and settled into his usual spot.

“Anything good?” he said around an exhale of smoke. Billy jumped a little. For being such a clutz sometimes, Steve could move like a cat when he wanted too.

“Just a reference.”

Steve stalled a little. Just a fraction, almost unnoticeable if you didn’t know him. Inhaled again. “Almost that time?”

Exhale. 

“Yeah, almost.”

Inhale. 

They’d never really spoken about Billy leaving, other than the fact it was 100% going to happen. How he needed it. Because he really did. Apart from Steve and their friendship, and thoughts he kept to himself, he didn’t put down roots. Didn’t make any other friends. Easy to just pick up and go. One last time. Build a life out there, a proper one without fear or worry. Finally free. Billy probably made it sound like utopia. It was to him. Steve always just listened. Maybe he didn’t believe Billy was completely serious.

“I’m gonna hit the liquor store when I’m done, special requests?” Billy folded up the letter and tucked it safe in his pocket, checked how many cigarettes he had left.

“Pack of reds?”

Steve nodded and looked at the sky. Still no stars. The rest of the break they were quiet, inches away from each other but it felt like miles.

\---

Billy got back to the Harrington mansion later than planned, cleaning down took longer than expected thanks to a burst milk jug in the walk in fridge that just went everywhere. Steve’s car was already parked in its usual spot. Shoes in the usual spot. Keys in the bowl. No lights on. Music floated through from the back door. Billy kicked his boots off and found Steve stretched out by the pool on one of the loungers; a box, a couple cases of beer, some bottles and a tape player on a low table between them.

“We having a party?” Billy laughed as he walked out. Laughed again when Steve rolled his head to look at him with sunglasses on even though it was nearly midnight, handing over a packet of Marlboros.

“Party for two baby!” He grinned. Billy grabbed a can and took residence on the other lounger. The first sip was heaven. It had been a long week. The closer it got to the end of the month the longer it was taking. The curse of anticipation. The pool in front of them glowed a faint blue so it wasn’t pitch black, it was dark but they could still see each other. Even with the stupid sunglasses Steve decided to wear for some reason. Probably just for that opening line. They just drank for a while. Music played at a good level. Curiosity got the better of Billy after can number two or three, maybe four, and he looked in the box. It was full of homemade mixtapes. The thought of Steve hunched over his radio, recording songs as they came on one by one made Billy smile.

“Pick out whatever you want,” Steve said, finally pushing the glasses up into his hair, nestling in perfectly. His eyes were nearly black in the low light. Each tape had a name scrawled on it in Steve’s writing, full tracklist on the back: Summer ‘83, Study Mix, Electro Pop, Christmas Party, Road Rager, White Noise. There was one tape at the very bottom of the box, hidden by all the others that Billy seemed to find far too easily.

~~Nancy x~~ :(

Steve watched him as he pulled it from the box, didn’t stop him as he read over the tracklist on the back. It was just a tape of ballads. Foreigner and George Micheal and Madonna and U2. Chick shit. Emotional slush. It was  _ break up _ music. It was music people cried too. Like in movies. Deep, wet, sobs clutching an old sweater or smelling a left behind perfume bottle, hidden in a closet or in a bathroom, always behind a locked door. Pouring rain outside to finish the scene.

It made Billy’s heart sink a little. He had admitted to himself that he had a little bit of a crush on Steve. A little bit. Nothing more. Nothing that was slowly spiralling into an obsession or anything. Suddenly the happy thought of him hunched over a radio became depressing, trying to find solace in music because that was all Steve had at the end of the day. Music and nightmares and TV cops in hawaiian shirts. He understood music and it understood him back.

“She really got you good huh?” Billy asked, dropping it back into the box, trying to push away the thought of Steve spending days on this tape to find just the right songs to work out his heartbreak, re-recording over a previous mix he had spilled his soul in to. It raised questions Billy didn't want to ask. The main one being did she give this tape back on their break up or was it even ever handed over. They were both equally devistating thoughts. Steve shrugged and dug it back out, looking over it like he hadn’t seen it for years. He probably hadn’t in all honesty. Billy didn’t want to think that he regularly came back to this tape for any reason.

“She did.” Steve rolled the tape in his hand before tossing it towards the pool. It landed with a small splash and sunk with few air bubbles. “Not anymore.”

Billy watched the bubbles pop silently. Steve watched it too until the water looked untouched again, like nothing had ever happened. It felt like a big moment, but Billy didn’t want to dwell on it in case he was reading too much into a situation he was just an observer too. He just nodded and grabbed another can.

“So when are you off _exactly_?” Steve asked after a couple more songs had played. He’d clearly been wanting to ask it all night but had waited. Waited until they were both getting tipsy, when these types of questions came out and usually came back with honest answers. He was clever like that.

“I dunno. Soon after next pay. I’m gonna say goodbye, don’t worry,” Billy smiled, trying to dispel the obvious tension that had built up. Anyone else would be happy to get their own space back again. But Steve wasn’t like that. Billy leaving left him alone in the mansion again. Back to dealing with nightmares solo. Steve stared at the pool and lit up a cigarette. He looked almost forlorn. “Or, you could come with, if you wanted?”

The proposal had left Billy’s lips before he could think about it properly. He had thought about it before, many times, but he’d never thought to actually ask it. Not seriously. The beer had made his tongue loose. He liked the idea of bringing Steve with him, both of them getting a new start away from everyone and everything. No one would know either of them. They could be anyone. No stories from high school tainting the future. No ties to the past at all.

Steve exhaled and gave a little half smile, sad. “Oh I don’t think my dad would like that very much. Besides, don’t think I’d do well in California.”

“Why not?” The lid Billy kept tight on his wants was starting to come loose. Beer was not his friend anymore.

“Well, I don’t really tan all that well…” Steve fell quiet after his first reason. It seemed to surprise him too. “And, I don’t know man, he wants me here.  _ They _ want me here.”

“But why? They’re _never_ here. You could have gone half way across the world by now and they’d have no idea.” Billy turned in the lounger to properly face Steve who was still staring out towards the trees. He was clearly thinking, though how clear those thoughts were after half a case of beer was uncertain. 

“Honestly? Probably so I don’t become some pill addicted shame on the family, or dead in the gutter somewhere. Probably more the first one though. God forbid I drag the Harrington name into flames.” He wiggled his fingers to represent the fire and spoke sarcastically.

“You should change it then,” Billy suggested, almost half seriously. It wasn’t the worst idea he could have had at that moment. “Become, I dunno, Steve Barrington, or something.”

Steve laughed warm into his can he was holding, midway through taking a sip. It echoed around the metal. Billy could hear the bubbles that would have been in his nose if they’d been drinking from glasses. “ _ Barrington _ ? Steve  _ Barrington _ , are you fucking serious?”

“What? I’m not good with names man, and I was under pressure!”

“Fucking  _ Barrington _ though?”

“Man, fuck you, I tried!” Billy laughed too, the smile stayed on Steve’s face. It lit him up like a stretched out Christmas reindeer ornament. 

“But it’s not even like,  _ good _ . Not even a little.”

“Well I don’t hear any of your bright fucking suggestions pretty boy!”

Steve rubbed his chin in exaggerated thought. Billy had time to start another cigarette before Steve drained the last of his can, speaking and looking smuggly triumphant. “Joel Goodson. I’d wanna be known as Joel Goodson.”

Billy stared at him like he was an idiot. He  _ was _ an idiot. A delightful idiot but an idiot nonetheless. “You think I don’t know that’s the main guy in  _ Risky Business _ ? Jesus  _ Barrington _ , I ain’t that dumb! I have seen movies you know.”

Steve giggled drunkenly and they swapped fake names and identities between them like they were running from the law. Created whole new lives for each other. They never settled on anything seriously but it was dumb conversation they both needed. Empty cans littered the ground as they started on one of the bottles. Vodka. Only the good stuff obviously. It still burned to drink it straight though, each taking swigs and passing the bottle back and forth. Tapes got changed with fumbling fingers when they clicked to an end. Steve had to squint to concentrate to put them back in the right cases. It was fun. But the lid was still prised open. Pandora’s box was leaking inside Billy’s mind.

“Would you come with?” Billy asked, trying to concentrate as Steve moved around in his vision. “Like, if I asked seriously?”

It didn’t feel like a question. The liquor was warm in his veins, keeping away most of the temperature that was outside with them. Keeping away the fear of appearing vulnerable for a second, even to Steve, who pulled one of his impossibly long legs up to his body. Rubbed his toes still in a white sock.

“Yeah. What’s the worst that could happen right?” He stretched his leg back out and rubbed his feet together. “Are there sharks?”

“Sometimes.”

Steve’s face screwed up towards the middle. “I don’t like sharks.”

“You know there’s more to California than the ocean right? It's a huge state,” Billy chuckled, lighting up another cigarette. He had no idea how many he’d smoked but their shared ashtray was close to overflowing.

“Not the way you tell it. It's all ocean in your version. And now that  _ ocean _ is full of  _ sharks _ . So thanks for that.”

“What’s so wrong with sharks? They’re cool! I had a shark tooth necklace as a kid.”

“Of course you fucking did, you beach bum!” Steve laughed, hands waving wildly. “You probably like, lived in rock pools, or, you know, where starfish and crabs live. Where do they live?”

“Rock pools?”

“Exactly! Only someone who lived in them would know, so point proven!” Steve stuck his tongue out to finish his point like a literal child and Billy burst laughing. Steve wound up laughing too and a warm air settled around them. The vodka bottle ran dry and they started on the other. Bacardi. Billy wasn’t a rum guy usually, but he didn’t want to head back inside even though it was so late it was early, didn’t want to break up the party for two. He was having fun being a drunk mess. The rum was only slightly more palatable than vodka, but it still burnt straight. They’d given up picking out tapes, choosing instead to just let the current one click to an end and listen to the silence around them that didn’t feel so stifling anymore.

“So… like… I don’t…” Steve started, tongue tripping over what he wanted to say. The alcohol definitely didn’t help that. His words were beginning to slur. Billy just chuckled and waited for him to spit it out. “How… how did you know?”

“How did I know what?” Billy looked at him confused, took the bottle when offered. Steve’s hands rolled into overtime with nothing to hold to ground them.

“You know…” he rolled them in little circles, mimicking a train, like that was going to help Billy understand what was happening, eyebrows up and eyes wide, forcing the idea in his brain telepathically across the table. “You know!”

“Stevie, I have no fucking idea what you’re on about,” Billy grinned, taking a swig, two, before setting the bottle between them.

Steve sighed, clearly frustrated at himself and lack of diction when four sheets to the wind. He screwed his eyes closed and faced upward to the sky, speaking to it instead of Billy. “How did you know you were gay?” His brown eyes were warm when they came back around. Glassy, but warm. All of him was warm. He seemed to radiate friendliness. Billy wanted to curl up in it, let it take over everything he hated about himself.

Billy shrugged at the question, tried not to gargle his words. No one had ever asked him that before, at least not without it being derogatory and dripping with disgust. “I dunno. Just did I guess. It's not like I just woke up one day and decided that’s what I  _ wanted _ to be. Some days it would be easier if I wasn’t though.”

“How come?” Steve moved his hand under his head like a pillow, rolled on his side to face Billy. He was genuinely interested and in all the things they had talked about, Billy’s romantic life very rarely came up. Neither of their romantic lives came up actually. Apart from Nancy. It wasn’t as awkward as it probably should have been, maybe Steve’s previous drunken confession of nearly choking on some guy’s tongue helped level the playing field slightly. They had a little life experience in common. Only a little though. Billy had been through a lot in his life and coming to the realisation he was gay really was just the shit icing ontop of the shit cake. It had taken years for him to be okay with it in himself. He had tried dating girls early on, but quickly realised that didn’t make him happy. He was just doing it to placate those around him who expected it. Neil, Susan to a certain extent, his short term friends at various schools. The day he decided to stop lying to himself was a huge relief. He started to dress how he wanted to, act how he wanted to. Billy wasn’t really  _ flamboyant _ by any means, but he knew what he liked. Neil hated his ear piercing, told him over and over it made his son look like a faggot. Billy adored it. A solid gold ring of defyance directly in everyone’s face. Wearing a pendant everyday was another. Rings and nice cologne. Little things all added up. But it forced his front to be tougher, to fight back the hate he felt for just being who he wanted to be. 

“You ever picked on anyone in the locker room, or wherever, for accidentally looking?” Billy asked. Steve opened his mouth to say something, clearly going to defend himself, but Billy jumped the gun. “Honestly? Not once? Ever? Never shoved anyone into a locker or just tripped them up in the halls cause they maybe might have seen your dick a little bit  _ once _ ?”

Steve shut his mouth and had the decency to look embarrassed. Billy believed he was. They all did shit things in school. Neither of them were the same people now. Good people grow.

“Okay, now remember what you said and did, and multiply that by the amount of schools I’ve had to go to, add in the fact that it wasn’t really an accident when I looked cause I was trying to figure myself out, and you’ve got reason one out of about forty. It’s not really something anyone  _ chooses _ . It just is.”

“But there must have been a moment where you were like, oh, you know?” Steve fumbled for his cigarettes, knocked out the last one of the pack, took three attempts to light it off his zippo. “You know?”

“Are you trying to ask when did I think girls are gross like this is second grade?” Billy grinned. “Like I said man, it didn’t just happen overnight. I mean, I denied it for a time, but, girls just aren’t my thing.” He reached over for the cigarette which Steve passed over without a fight. “Too squishy in the wrong places.”

“But girls were all over you. You were Mr Out-of-Town. Mysterious.”

Billy exhaled to the sky before handing the cigarette back. He wasn’t stupid. He had noticed girls looking and trying to get close, maybe he’d flirted back a little for something to do, but he was never properly interested. This town was just that boring. And it was easy. “Girls want what they can’t have pretty boy. You of all people should know that.”

Steve chuckled around the filter and shrugged as best he could still on his side. Guilty as charged. Steve had always had eyes on him, wasn’t blind to it in the slightest. But then he met Nancy, and Nancy broke his heart. And then college girls were far too wild for his small town ways. None of his moves worked anymore... He reached for the rum again.

A lightbulb went off in Billy’s brain watching Steve’s lips perfect around the rim of the bottle. A drunk slurry, brilliant joke of a lightbulb. “Know how you’re  _ King Steve _ ?” Steve rolled his eyes as he drank but let Billy continue. “Does that mean anyone you hooked up became a  _ princess _ ?” Billy laughed but it caused Steve to snort and dribble rum over his shirt like an inebriated idiot, which made Billy laugh harder until he was doubled over over the side of the lounger, Steve’s face turning bright red in shame, but not at what his body had done. “Fuck off! You totally did, didn’t you?! Oh my god, you’re the fucking  _ worst _ !”

Steve wiped his face with his arm, put the bottle back on the table, talked between Billy’s bouts of laughter. “I can’t help that it worked!”

“Hey, whatever helped get your dick wet,” Billy wheezed with his hands raised up. Nothing was ever going to top that joke. Ever. Eventually Steve smiled too, chuckled a little. He knew it was a sleazy move but it worked more times than it should have.

Their laughter eventually died and Billy went back into the box of tapes one last time after what felt like an hour, the amount of liquor in his system was starting to shut him down for good. His fingers fumbled around a tape he thought read ‘Relax’, but it really could have been anything the way the words were swirling together and Steve's god awful handwriting. It was a challenge to get it to play, but soothing noises came out of the speakers. Winding down. The black above was becoming purple. They’d both been outside for hours, awake for longer. Billy’s gut was nice and warm, all of him was. He was always the guy at parties that got too hot, alcohol just seemed to do that to him, had to cool off outside, try and get lucky with the loner kids hanging around out there. Steve had curled more into a ball, eyes closed but not asleep. Shivering slightly.

“Y’cold?” Billy slurred, tongue heavy like lead in his mouth.

Steve nodded slow. “Don’t wanna go inside… too far.”

That was probably for the best. Somehow he was in worse shape than Billy was, even though they’d drunk about the same. Maybe because Billy had more bulk, could handle drink better. He shifted back to the edge of the lounger, armrest digging into one side of his back, silently offering Steve the space he’d made with a small creak of fabric. Steve saw and shuffled over, swaying on his feet the one step it took for him to crawl into the space, almost stumbling backwards in the pool along the way.

Billy hadn’t thought this far ahead. Truth be told he hadn’t thought at all. Just wanted to help because he knew he radiated body heat like an industrial furnace. But then Steve was there, laying on Billy’s arm that he’d forgotten to move. Soft and balling up again, curling up close, pressing his face into Billy’s shoulder, turning into his neck. He could feel Steve’s breath, hot and steady, against his skin. Billy was too far gone to sober up, felt like he was just watching his free arm wrap around Steve’s frame to keep him warm. The sensible part of his brain would have told him to stop, take a step back, slow down, but that part had gone to sleep hours ago. The warm glow of want was in the driving seat. And god he’d thought about this a lot. Steve’s knee made its way between Billy’s, tucking up more into his warmth, greedy for it. Steve’s hair smelt like honey and hairspray. Billy closed his eyes and everything else in the world melted away, but that sweet, chemically smell and Steve’s arm twisting loosely around Billy’s waist, holding him back. It could be played off as Steve wanting more heat but, even heavily intoxicated, it felt like more. And Billy was sure it wasn’t just wishful thinking this time. Memories rolled almost too fast at all those little half looks he thought he’d caught out of the corner of his eyes, things slotting into place with each passing second, new theories starting to form. Why else would Steve care so much about Billy liking boys if he wasn’t maybe trying to figure things out for himself? Right? Maybe?  _ Possibly?  _

“‘M sorry if I throw up,” Steve mumbled quietly, face soft and pliant. Exhausted but content. Billy sighed softly, forced himself to think straight for just a moment. Now wasn’t the time for trying anything, no moves, no quick one liners that always landed. They were both far too drunk. Regret always came with being this drunk.

But Steve had curled in so easily...

“‘S okay. Your family can pay for dry cleaning.”

Steve breathed out a small laugh, Billy compelled himself to calm down one last time. He’d sure as hell kick himself about it when they woke up, that was a certainty, but now wasn’t the time to play chicken with his friend’s sexuality, even if that friend had done something before.

It was time for sleep.

\---

Billy awoke first, mouth dry and acrid. The sun beat down hot and fierce, made him wince in his skin. A dull thrum of a hangover played its way all across his brain. Cracking his eyes open just a little caused it to flare to a full drum solo under his skull.

God it had been a while since he’d woken up this bad.

He tried to move to rub his face, but his limbs were heavy. One was trapped. Panic spiked initially, until he remembered. He squinted to see until the sun was more bearable, could look properly at Steve still curled into him, dead asleep, a wet spot in Billy’s shirt where he’d slept with his mouth open, arm still around his waist loose, knees still locked together. Billy’s heart hammered in his chest. He looked around to check this was real. Cans were everywhere, cigarette butts too. Birds chirped far off in the distance. The trees stared down at them both.

It was real alright. Soberingly real.

Billy had far too many dilemmas to deal with first thing with the kind of hangover he was suffering from. He needed to move. Needed to go inside and piss and brush his teeth and shower  _ immediately _ . But he didn’t want to wake Steve. But he  _ needed _ to wake Steve. They couldn’t just lie here until he woke up naturally, because god only knew when that would be. But then there was the possibility that Steve would freak seeing where he’d passed out, and that awkward crack Billy feared would form and taint his last few weeks. Just because Steve liked that  _ one _ guy that  _ one _ time didn’t mean he liked Billy. And last night had been so fun, he didn’t want to ruin it. So he stayed still, flexed his hand on the arm that was trapped to try and get the blood moving again, trying to keep the rest of him as still as possible. The pins and needles it caused were intense, but it worked for a little while. Until Steve groaned sleepily and tried to roll forward onto his stomach, rolling flat against Billy instead, his brown eyes flew open in surprise.

Billy’s back up plan of just pretending to sleep wasn’t going to work anymore. Not when they were staring straight at each other, both caught like deer in the headlights. Steve looked down at their limbs tangled together, but didn’t move as fast as Billy expected him too. Wasn’t running off inside. He just raised his body up just enough for Billy to get his arm back and closed his eyes again.

“Don’t mind, do you?” He mumbled tiredly, voice croaky, clearly suffering too, not curling in as close but not moving away either. “Sore.” 

Billy didn’t say anything. He couldn’t. Proper feeling flooding into his now free arm, which he put up pver the top of Steve's head. Silence was confirmation. The hammering got worse, he was sure Steve could hear it, maybe feel it through his skin where his head was still so close.

There was no way Billy was imagining this. But Steve was clingy. He’d told Billy himself. He could just be giving into what he needed to feel better in the moment. His hair looked soft, stuck in place thanks to the hairspray that was never washed out. Billy couldn’t resist anymore. He felt like shit and was done being polite and holding back when the boy was right there, right in his circle, practically inviting with doors wide open. Maybe he wanted something to feel a little better too? He gently rubbed through Steve’s hair which earnt a little tired smile in return, the arm circled tighter around his waist.

It  _ was _ soft.

All Billy could hear was his heart in his ears, thumping loud and defiant, the world sunk around the lounger. Nothing else existed as a hair touch turned into a thumb brushing the shell of Steve’s ear. Billy tried not to tremble. He was way too sober for this, way too aware of every little thing, every little feeling, but even the thought of drinking again made him feel ill. It had been a long time since he’d done anything like this sober. Steve didn’t move away, didn’t flinch back. Just smiled small, fingers flexing flat on Billy’s lower back. It felt like fire. Billy wanted to talk, wanted to ask if this was okay, but his tongue was tied in knots, a lump in his throat, a hand he couldn’t control that was damn near  _ caressing _ the mark on Steve’s cheek. He couldn’t stop if he tried. Deep down, and now much closer to the surface, he didn’t want to. Steve looked up, deep brown pools Billy wanted to drown in. Inviting and warm.

_ Now or never. _

He tilted Steve’s head up just a little and kissed him, soft and chaste. Relief flooded everything when he felt a gentle kiss back. Billy wasn’t insane. He hadn’t been pining in his head for no reason. He deepened it after a few moments, meeting Steve’s tongue in the middle, prying out little mews from the other boy’s throat. He tasted stale but there was something sweet lingering. The hand on Billy’s back became desperate, grabbing his shirt to hold on. Billy’s hand moved to cup the back of Steve’s neck, fingertips in his hair. For a brief moment the hangover faded into the background and everything became Steve. How he tasted, how he felt, how he smelled.

Steve wore a goofy grin when they broke apart for air. “And now you’re a princess.”

If Billy had the energy to punch him, he would have. In the nicest possible way. Instead he laughed, winced when the noise hurt his head.  “You’re a fucking jerk, you know that?”

Steve shrugged, twisted his hand against Billy's back. “I’d do it again, but I think we both taste like shit.”

He wasn’t wrong there.

Together they detangled themselves and somehow made it inside with sluggish heavy limbs. Steve took up the main bathroom while Billy took the one next to the guest rooms, the one that had kind of become his. Took a passing glance at himself in the mirror and god he looked like shit too. He scrubbed the inside of his mouth nearly raw to get rid of the taste that felt like he’d licked the bottom of an ashtray and stepped into the shower, let hot water rush over his body and through his hair. Washing away a hangover as best it could. The feel of Steve’s skin stayed on his fingers. The feel of his lips. Billy rested his head against the wall, felt his heartbeat where it connected against the smooth tile, trying not to let his mind race again but it was impossible.

He’d just kissed Steve Harrington. Albeit for not a huge amount of time, but still.

Billy grinned to himself, even looking like a hungover rat he still had it. He replayed it over and over. It didn’t feel forced. Didn’t feel like Steve was just doing it to placate him or because he was still drunk. It felt like Steve wanted to do it, but then that left the big ‘why?’ question blaring in neon lights. The little half looks had been there, there wasn’t a question about that anymore, it was shifting more to how come Steve hadn’t made a move before. Maybe Billy’s tough front was too much, but Steve knew him better than that. He groaned and hit his head off the wall, groaned again when it hurt more than he was expecting it too. Thinking sucked sometimes. He shut off the water, dried and dressed in clean clothes from his bag in the guest room, and headed downstairs for some food and a much needed coffee. Steve was already in the kitchen, hair damp, licking sticky purple jelly off his thumb. Billy wanted to just wrap his arms around his frame, pick up where they’d left off now they were both clean, and didn’t taste like ass, but there were still a lot of answers he needed to be sure. He went to grab a glass for water and Steve smiled but didn’t speak. Maybe there were questions on both sides. There was only so long they could both beat around the elephant in the room.

“So…” Billy started as he filled the glass. He didn’t know where to start though. Where do you begin with ‘ _ oh so we just kind of made out a bit, you wanna do it again so it means something or am I another experiment cause you got your heart broke that one time and you might not be able to trust girls again? _ ’

Steve dropped more bread into the toaster, put what he had already made onto a paper towel instead of a plate. “So… okay, look, I’m sorry. For, out there.”

Billy felt his heart sink. The one time he got his hopes up for something. It was like the time he thought he could move out at 16. He’d tried but he wasn’t ready, still too wild to be responsible. Neil made sure he remembered that. He drank the water to keep himself busy, hand tight around the glass as Steve just looked at the counter and carried on talking. “I should have liked, checked, I guess. Not just, thrown myself at you like that.”

Billy refilled his glass, tried to keep his speech level and calm even though he could feel shame bubbling up inside. “Checked?”

“Yeah. If that was cool or not. I don’t want things to be weird between us, that’s the very last thing I want... I... I like... I like having you here. I like talking to you cause you actually listen to me. You _notice_ me. Fuck that sounds so desperate…” Steve’s cheeks glowed pink, his whole body flush with embarrassment. Billy knew him well enough by now to know he wasn’t telling the whole story, if anything he was talking himself into a hole that with a few wrong words he wouldn’t ever get out of. He drained his glass again and left it in the sink, went over to Steve’s side to stand a bit closer.

“What are you trying to say?”

Steve sighed and rolled the butter knife around in his fingers. “Why do you think I asked you over the first time?”

“Cause I was living in my car?” Billy answered but it was still a question. He didn’t know where this was going, but it didn’t sound short.

“Cause I thought... I thought you were cute. Oh not, not  _ cute _ but…” Steve groaned and closed his eyes, hung his head at the words clearly coming out wrong. Billy didn’t need to hear more. That was all the confirmation required. He leant against the counter, almost sitting on it, crossing his legs in front of him at the ankles.

“So, just so I know where we are. You invited me over cause you thought I was  _ cute _ , then proceeded to do nothing the whole time I’ve been here, until this morning, when we were so drunk last night literally anything could have happened and that would have been a smarter time to make a move?” He grinned as Steve opened up his eyes and looked sideways towards him. He still looked embarrassed but nowhere near as much. “You’re terrible with dropping a hint pretty boy, you know that right?”

“Are you kidding me? I was dropping hints the whole time. Like. Like bombs I was dropping them trying to break down your damn walls and tough guy front!”

Billy forced himself to think back more, clear some of the haze. The hugs and the touches, sitting in Steve’s bed after his nightmares and talking about utter nonsense to the ceiling, staying up all hours to just listen to music or smoke. The warm smiles and stupid jokes,  _ being there _ . It was more than what just friends did. It had just been so long since he had been close to anyone. Steve had been dropping hints alright, Billy was just too blind to notice them, too convinced he was seeing things or imagining the best case scenario because things like that didn’t happen to him. Pretty boys like Steve never looked his way, but he’d been looking all this time. Damn near staring. Adjusting his hair before work, always making sure they’d go on break together to hang out. His nervous fidgets weren’t from simply being outside and stuck in his town like Billy had started to suspect.

God he felt stupid.

“In my defence, no one has ever hit on me sober before,” he said more to his feet, face turning a whole different shade of just plain embarrassed from being so oblivious. “But I guess you’re cute too. I guess.” He nudged Steve’s calf with his foot, putting in a playful eyeroll with his words, trying to soften the blow for himself that they could have been exploring this long before now. Steve chuckled as his skin started to turn back into a normal shade.

They were both idiots.

The toaster popped.

“Am I cute enough that we can just watch game shows and pretend we don’t exist until we feel better to try that again?”

That was the second best thing Billy had heard all day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love writing these boys drunk, what can I say?
> 
> [Tumblr.](https://bird-in-a-cage.tumblr.com/) Come ask me stuff!


	7. Chapter 7

Warm water lapped around Billy’s ankles, soft and gentle and repetitive as clockwork. In and out. Soothing and relaxing. He didn’t feel like a child this time, limbs their normal length and tan, bringing out the natural freckles in his skin. The sun was hot overhead, making the sand glisten. The waves brought up little white shells, different ridges and patterns on each one but all roughly the same size. The shoreline was littered with them. Billy got to his feet to follow them, sand wet between his toes. Each step left an imprint that lasted when he glanced behind himself, he could follow them back to his original spot with ease if he wanted to return. The further he walked the bigger the shells got, only by a little amount each time. But they got sharper, the patterns on them more pointed and dangerous. Almost like a littering of arrowheads from a long forgotten battle. The sky above got dark, grey storm clouds rolled, but it was still hot. The air felt cloying and thick, choking. A form started to appear in the distance, washed up in a heap. As Billy got closer he made out features, ones that made his heart drop from his chest. Chestnut brown hair matted thick with sand. Eyes wide and dull, staring at nothing. Skin blue where it should be pale, a maze of cracks and splinters instead of beauty marks and moles. Billy sank to his knees in the sand next to the body, tried to call his name but there was no sound but the waves lapping in and out. Constant. Threatening. He tried to touch but the body started to crumble and turn to dust where he did, the breeze sweeping it away like it had never been there. It was hollow inside, like a broken vase in a museum. He didn’t move, didn’t breathe. Just lay there waiting for the tide to come in and sweep away the fragments of toes, calves, knees. Billy screamed but there was nothing. The more he tried to help the more damage it did. He slumped into the wet sand, feeling it curl up over his shoulder, around his chest, and pulling down like a bad idea. All he could focus on was the ocean washing Steve away piece by piece, powerless to stop it. 

Billy awoke with a start, his heart hammering in his chest. The dark was around him. No ocean, no sun. Just check printed sheets and a matching pillow that had been lost to the floor at some point. It took awhile for his breathing to get back to normal, for the cold sweat to pass. He scrubbed his hands through his hair and swung out of bed. It had been a while since he’d had a dream like that. Not a nightmare. No, Steve had nightmares. That was an inconvenience at most maybe.

_ This house… _

Something didn’t sit right in his stomach when he had calmed, following an instinct he went to investigate the other room, found Steve moments from falling out of his bed fighting invisible monsters, sheets tangled around every limb like a puzzle, but locked in place and helpless. Billy let himself into the room, rocked Steve’s shoulder to free him. Steve gasped like it was his last breath and grabbed Billy’s arm, his short nails clawing desperately and leaving marks, cutting a little, eyes searching hopelessly in the dark.

This was far from the first time Billy had woken Steve like this. He could start to tell if it was going to be a bad night. He would usually wake first and just check when his gut told him too. His gut was nearly always right these days. Over time they’d somehow synced up.

Steve panted hard as Billy swept damp hair from his face, gently cupped his cheek. “It’s okay. It's just me. I’ve got you.”

Steve still stared wide eyed but his grip loosened before his body gave up his rigidity and collapsed into the mattress, panting still hard but starting to slow as Billy unwound him from his sheets, the same pattern as the ones in the guest room. Two small thin cuts bled on Billy’s arm as he moved into the bed, Steve easily gave room. Didn’t have the fight not too. Billy gently pulled the taller boy to him, who moved without a fuss. Like a rag doll. Just exhausted. His skin was clammy. Steve always gave in to Billy coming into his bed.

“You wanna talk about it?” Billy said to the dark, just hearing Steve’s breathing getting back to normal was enough confirmation he was going to be okay soon. He felt Steve shake his head, soft hair tickling his skin as he moved to rest against his shoulder, arm heavy around Billy’s waist. “Okay. Well I had a weird dream, if you don’t mind.”

Billy never spoke about his dreams but he had to talk about something. Steve liked to listen when he couldn’t talk. It’s probably why he liked music so much. Something to fill the silence that followed him everywhere like a terrible shadow.

He felt a gentle poke to his hip. Felt deep brown eyes looking up.

_ Talk. Please? _

“I was on a beach. And there were these little white shells in a line. Not like those ones that are like necklaces. Little round flat ones. Like sand dollars but much smaller. And this line just went on for miles, and I mean miles. So I start following it thinking, I dunno, maybe there’s treasure at the end of it. Like a rainbow or something. There’s treasure at the end of those right? Unless the guy on the Lucky Charms box has been lying to us this whole time...”

He felt Steve’s hand flattening against his side, coming back to earth. The monsters going back into hiding with every word of distraction. Billy wound his fingers into Steve's hair and stroked gently, rhythmicly.

“Anyway, it starts getting really stormy but the weather doesn’t change. It gets hotter if anything. And at the end of all these shells is…”

_ You _ . 

Billy tried to hide his thick swallow. “This weird vase. It was super old, might have washed up off a boat or something lost at sea.”

“So, treasure?” Steve asked small and soft, getting control of his voice again.

_ But not you. _

“I guess so. It was really old and fragile. I couldn’t move it without it breaking.”

_ You turned to dust in my hands. _

“Maybe it didn’t want to be moved?”

Billy tightened his grip a little without thinking about it. “Then why did it look like it wanted too?” 

He felt Steve shrug against his shoulder, hand moving up to his chest to thumb across Billy’s heart, finding the rhythm easy under his fingertips. Another distraction. “Maybe it did. But it couldn’t. Like it was stuck to the beach?”

_ The lonely boy in the empty house surrounded by weird trees in the fucked up town. _

“Like a curse?”

Steve shrugged again. “Maybe. It was your dream. I wasn’t there.”

_ You were ashes. _

Billy sighed and pressed a kiss to Steve’s forehead, now less clammy than before. They were both real and both still existed in the bed, that much was certain.

Neither slept.

\---

The last pile of notes fell from the envelope onto the dining table. Billy smoothed them out to be counted along with the rest. It was finally payday and by all his calculations and estimations, he had enough to leave. At long last he could turn his back on the town he hated and return home, follow its call like a homing signal. He stacked them into bill amounts and tucked them all into individual envelopes, writing on the back how much each one contained. He’d never held that amount of money before and it felt good, really good. He’d worked hard to earn every last cent and it was finally going to pay off.

He could practically smell the salt air already.

Steve appeared from the kitchen and stood behind where Billy sat, leant forward and wrapped his arms around the wider shoulders.

“Everything there?” He set a soda on the table, purposely not using the coaster because it was one of the few ways he could rebel against ghosts.

“Everything’s there,” Billy confirmed, rubbing over one of the forearms that circled him. He liked being held during the day, it was something he didn’t have a lot of in his life. It had taken a short while to become used to how handsy Steve was and liked to be. His wall hadn’t come down completely but he was getting there, working hard to let Steve in. Not flinch when he touched over a scar or a bad memory. Steve was patient and took his time. Unlike his real life, in a relationship, or whatever they had that didn’t have a name put to it yet, Steve wasn’t clumsy at all. He remembered every touch, every small flinch that Billy tried not to show, and worked to wipe away the pain associated with it. Would make a point to kiss over Billy’s scars when they were in whatever bed they wound up in that night, calming the monster that flared underneath at the memories of what happened. Whispering sweet nothings to his skin as their hips would rut together.

Billy didn’t deserve Steve. That much he was totally sure of. But he wasn’t stupid enough to ever say it out loud.

“The offer’s still there,” Billy turned up to look at Steve, who was more looking at the money than anything else. “We can head out Monday? Never look back.”

They both knew this was coming. Billy wasn’t shy talking about his great escape. He knew Steve had ties, more emotional than physical these days, and knew first hand it was hard and downright scary to leave what you’ve always known behind. He didn’t exactly expect Steve to leave the mansion totally empty just like that, maybe with a note pinned to the fridge for whenever his parents next came home, ‘Gone west, love ya never!’, but he expected something.

As much as neither of them had wanted to focus on the inevitable it was here, lying on the table in neatly packaged piles. If Steve wasn’t coming it was the end. Simple as.

Steve’s hand wrapped around Billy’s shoulder, grounding, trying to think. Billy turned slightly in the chair to look at him, see the cogs turning around in his brain choosing between what he wanted and what was expected of him.

If he had a pen it would be twirling around his fingers.

“I don’t need an answer right now, but soon?” Billy offered. Another lifeline.

Steve nodded, clearly still trapped in thought, kissed him through blonde curls. “Soon.”

It was better than no.

\---

Steve never really gave an answer. Billy tried not to ask. But knowing he could just leave and he _couldn’t_ was wearing thin. He snapped easier at work over the smallest things not being in the right place, about certain prep not getting done, at servers being too slow. He apologised straight after but that didn’t detract from what he had done. Steve tried to calm him but the kisses and touches and stolen moments in the walk in fridge weren’t enough. It was like an itch that couldn’t be scratched no matter how deep or sharp the implement was. It was in his bones. At the forefront of his mind. Another day in Hawkins was another day he would have been in Santa Cruz, found somewhere to live maybe, a job, felt the sun he craved on his skin. It was maddening. But he couldn’t bail on Steve. Maybe in the beginning sure, but now? No way. As much as a part of him screamed to just run and never look back, watching Steve sleep beside him, before the nightmares took hold, when the other boy looked at  _ peace _ for just one goddamn moment , it made his heart hurt to think about just running away. He couldn’t leave Steve alone with his demons.  _ His _ Steve.

So Billy stayed put. He never told anyone an official leaving date anyway. Not that anyone would really care. He stayed put and looked after Steve when he needed it. Because as much as Billy liked to be held and cared for in a way that he had never verbalised, ever, Steve needed the same care at night. Before his beasts swallowed him whole and left just a husk in return. Having someone else there did seem to help. Steve didn’t retreat to his blanket when Billy was there to wrap him up in strong arms and sweep his damp hair away. It didn’t take him as long to come back down. He didn’t scream. Some nights he barely moved at all.

“You were there,” Steve admitted quietly one night, the suffocating dark around them put at bay by a little bedside lamp. “You tried to help...”

“One day I’ll beat them for you.” Steve just smiled small and put his head on Billy’s shoulder, kissed the little scar that lay there from an incident in fifth grade fro being a dick in woodshop.

“My brave knight…”

\---

Another week passed and still no answer. Billy could feel Hawkins creeping into his bones and pulling him under. Maybe that’s just what the town did. Maybe it really was like a fictional haunted town. It just absorbed all the good in everyone to keep going, created a dome over itself to make the rest of the world look scary and weird. Much safer to stay put. Don’t go outside. Don’t go beyond the town lines. It's too dangerous out there. The thick trees outside the mansion looked thicker everyday, even more impenetrable. He started to understand why Steve couldn’t leave. The house needed him to survive, to pass on the curse to the next family that moved in after his death. Another family to feed Hawkins. Keep the dome strong. A sacrifice.

God Billy hated small towns.

\---

The door unlocking heavy awoke them both. Two sets of feet shuffling inside. Billy rubbed his eye as Steve checked the time, limbs unwinding from each other. 2:25 am. Steve got out of bed first, pulled on whoever’s clothes that were on the floor and went to investigate, leaving the door open behind him. The “Steven” he heard bouncing up the stairs made Billy’s blood run hot, shooed away the last ounce of sleep. He pulled on what were clearly Steve’s gym shorts, because Billy didn’t have shorts, especially ones this tight around his thighs, and carefully went on the landing to see what was happening. 

Steve stood halfway down the stairs, looking small and shrunken in on himself. The man stood at the bottom was almost his exact double, except a good few decades older, grey at the temples, a thick set of glasses seemingly welded to his face that was full of stress lines.

Mr. Harrington. 

Billy hated him on site, stood in a long trench coat even though the weather outside had barely called for one since early spring. Suitcases sat by the door. Heels clicked in the background, going from room to room, tutting and sighing. Mrs Harrington or a mistress Billy wasn’t sure, but he drew his attention back to Steve, standing with slumped shoulders. Already defeated by a gaze. Mr. Harrington looked up towards where Billy was standing and it made his blood run hotter, boiling in his veins. He could feel the trigger snapping tight instantly. Aside from Neil, he’d never seen a face he’d like to punch more. Neil and Ronald Reagan but that was more for personal reasons.

“We never allowed you to have guests,” his voice wasn’t raised but it felt threatening and loud. Billy had heard threatening all his life, knew what it did to a person. Knew Steve must have heard it many times before too from the way he was already beaten into submission. Steve didn’t fight back like Billy had. Coming from money he had more to lose. More to uphold. Billy had everything to gain coming from dirt. But that one line sent Billy’s mind spiralling. Never? They’d  _ never _ allowed Steve to have a friend over? Even Neil had done that once or twice when his mom was still around.

Billy’s knuckles felt tight as his hand formed a fist by his side, but he stayed put, rage starting to seep into his vision.

“He’s a friend from work,” Steve gave as an answer to a question that never was. Mrs. Harrington, definitely wife, Billy could practically see the rock weighing her hand down from upstairs, busied herself in the background, collecting empty cans they hadn’t cleaned away before heading to bed but had every intention to do in the morning, the pizza box from their dinner, an ashtray with only a couple of filters in it.

“That doesn’t allow you to not respect the rules. We brought you back home for you to remember that.”

Billy had to bite his tongue hard, could taste the coppery tang of blood start to prickle around his gums. If he flew off the handle here it was a one way trip to a jail cell. Steve looked smaller by the second, retreating back into a stance his body just fell into under pressure from his father. Years of not standing up for himself. Years of not being able too. God it made Billy feel sick. Made him wonder if he looked the same under Neil, except he would be made to stand tall. Don’t cower.  _ You deserve this faggot _ .

“Sorry sir,” Steve acknowledged. It was an empty apology but it seemed to satisfy. Mr Harrington’s attention then turned towards Billy again. They had the same coloured eyes, father and son, but didn’t have nearly the same life in them, the same sparkle. 

“Are you going to explain yourself young man?”

Billy wanted to laugh. He wanted to do a lot of things but laugh was the main one in that moment. Storm down and laugh directly in his pompous face, find out what buttons to push, strike the match and let it all burn. He knew it would be so easy to get a rise and a reason to fight back. Self defence officer, honest. Harrington Sr. seemed like the type, all talk and no bite. A muzzled lapdog that sounded like a lion. Forever protected by his money and influences. Feeding the Hawkins monster one influential party brought into his home for a lavish Christmas party at a time. Steve stayed still, looking at the floor, not even his feet, just a blank spot of carpet. Zoning out to cope.

“Your  _ son _ already did.” Billy bit back and leant on the banister. There were a good 14 steps between him and Sr., but the way his jaw sharpened subtly, eyes hardened, Billy realised quickly he shouldn’t have said anything at all. All attention was back on Steve who hadn’t moved an inch but had somehow gotten even smaller, turned into a child again being told off for leaving the milk out accidentally.

“Tell your  _ friend _ to leave or I’m calling the police.” It was more than a threat, Billy was surprised Mrs. Harrington wasn’t already calling from their kitchen phone, it was a stark warning. In Billy’s experience it would usually be followed by a quick slap to remind him who was boss. Sr. clearly never got his hands dirty. Allowed others to do it for him. Threats and promises all the same.

Steve stalled before turning, still looking down, one hand turned into a fist but not in anger, so his nails could cut into the fleshy part of his palm, a distraction from the pain of being beaten down again, something clear he could focus on instead of misery. He glanced up towards Billy once but quickly looked away again, warm chocolate threatening to run over with tears. His mouth opened and closed silently, words not forming. Billy had never wanted to wrap his arms around him more, pull him away from this. It hurt that Steve wasn’t standing up for himself and what he wanted for once in his life, but he understood. He understood this far better than most. Once you feel those heavy hands on your shoulders it's hard to break free from their grasp. It takes more fight than you feel you’ll ever have. It's easier to lose the smaller battle in hope of a bigger victory somewhere down the line. It's only at the end of the line you realise that the biggest battle was at the very start.

Billy stood straight, bore holes down to Harrington Sr. “It's alright Steve, I got places to be anyway.” He took his attention back to Steve who had looked up again, hoping he’d understood the coded message they’d never discussed before he turned to pack his things spread out over two rooms now, dressing properly and just throwing the rest of his clothes into his bag, envelopes of money safe underneath it all. Billy wanted to scream. To fight. To feel his knuckles split open knocking out every tooth Harrington Sr. possessed. He bet Sr. had a gold filling somewhere. The monsters inside had swirled into a frenzy, he could feel them taking control, itching and dancing under his skin, making each thrown item heavier upon its release. It hurt to keep them down, but he didn’t want to end up in a cell. Sr. looked like he would definitely press charges, and he was old enough to be sent away properly, not just juvy or a slap on the wrist or the threat of military school anymore. He heard that deep voice from downstairs, going from room to room, discussing  _ damage payments _ , installment plans. Cleaning the smoke smell out of fabrics, getting tables re-sanded and stained to get rid of ring marks. So everything looked untouched and new again. Removing any trace that Steve lived there. That, aside from childhood photos on the wall and his car in the driveway, he even existed at all.

Billy wanted to set fire to the whole building. Stand back and watch the perfect showhome burn to the ground. He wanted to pull Steve out of this nightmare, throw him in the back of the Camaro and drive. Keep him safe from all this. Do what no one had ever done for him.

He made a point of walking loud down the stairs, almost stomping to pull his boots and jacket on, unlit cigarette tucked behind his ear. The three Harringtons stood in the kitchen. Harrington Sr. wasn’t that much taller than Steve but he was far more imposing, making everyone else look tiny. Mrs Harrington looked like she was kind, once. Years of being treated the way she clearly had been had worn her round edges into points. Lips thin from having nothing to say even in defending her own child. Steve was the light in this world he found himself in, and it was being extinguished over and over again. You can only reignite yourself so many times before hope dies.

No wonder he has nightmares and did anything to look for a way out with his first touch of freedom. 

Billy wanted to say a million things, a million snide comments. Wanted to leave a perfect ring shaped indentation in Sr’s jaw. Wanted to grab Steve and kiss him open mouthed and hot and protect him with all his soul. Pull him into the sunshine.

Their words were quiet, clearly Billy was an outsider not to be included in the conversation. He was used to that. As he grabbed his car keys he heard one line that before Steve’s kindness would have sent him spiralling out of control with no hope of coming back.

_ “I haven’t raised my son to be a fairy.” _

Billy slammed the door as he left, hoping that just maybe it had been hard enough to knock that stupid vase off the table as a small act of disctruction. The world was cold and dark outside. Street lights seemed miles away as he breathed heavily, trying to regain control, his grand plan to get them both out of here in tatters. He wanted to be angry at Steve for not just saying yes while they still had the chance for a clean break. But he couldn’t. It wasn’t Steve’s fault, the fear he felt at the thought of leaving. The scariest situations are the unknown ones, even if the ones you know are nightmares. Billy got to his Camaro and threw his bag in the back, taking a look up at the mansion that seemed more imposing than it did that first night he stayed. It had shut him out. The neighbourhood was silent, impossible to tell what was happening behind every locked door. Lights went off inside the Harrington home after a few minutes. Whatever one sided conversation they were having had ended.

It felt like hope died too.

Billy rested his head against the roof of his car for a moment, trying to think straight and breathe, because if he drove now there’d be a good chance it would be directly through the front door before backing out into the night. He rolled his head away from the house and spotted it. A Lincoln Mark VII, a year off the line at most, parked behind Steve’s beemer, blocking him in.

The Harrington’s car.

The keys in Billy’s hand felt sharp, the devil on his shoulder heavy, he checked around one more time before walking over to it, leaning down to look inside at the cherry red leather that probably still smelt new from just being parked at the airport, the back seats that had never been used. It was a beautiful car for an ugly man. He pushed one of the keys between his fingers and dragged it hard along the black paintwork, slow and methodical, leaving a bright white scratch all the way around that couldn’t just be painted over. The monster bayed for more, tired of being drip fed ideas all night. He worked a sharper key to the front and used it to punch out the tires, hearing them hiss as the car deflated on one side, feeling the prickle of satisfaction around the back of his neck as the hubcaps hit concrete. He wanted to do a lot more, but knew deep down he was just stalling for time. He only punched the door once before going back to his Camaro and getting inside. The mansion was still silent. Like nothing had ever happened. Like the last couple months didn't happen. Billy ran his hands through his hair in frustration. He’d gotten attached and was now getting his heart broken. It was the very last thing he wanted to happen, put down roots and start to grow. He should have stayed cold. Stayed silent. Stayed distant.

But those eyes had been so inviting. Those plump pink lips better than nicotine.

It was another few minutes before Billy actually turned the key in the ignition, he didn’t have a reason to wait any longer to make his escape, which he definitely needed to now after vandalising that beautiful car. He turned to back out of the driveway but saw something move out of the corner of his eye, before he could focus on what it was or where it had come from Steve’s face appeared at the window, small and panicked looking, hair quickly scraped back. He let himself into the Camaro, putting a small bag on the backseat alongside Billy’s.

“Offer still open, yeah?” he panted, eyes wide, ringed red and damp from tears, full of fear but also excitement, fingers tapping nervously against his knees, still in Billy’s jeans from before but a shirt he’d pulled from somewhere. Billy had never felt such relief. It hit him like being caught in a riptide. Warm and calming but exciting as hell, extinguishing his built up rage and fight. He leant over and kissed his pretty boy hard like that would somehow display every emotion he was feeling in that moment.

“Always for you.”

Steve smiled shakily, clearly trying to be confident but Billy knew him better. Knew this situation was terrifying. Knew he’d probably just jumped out of a second story window with no intention of coming back. He took Billy’s cigarette and pulled a lighter and a cassette tape out of his pocket.

☀  California  ☀

No other words needed to be said. Billy backed out of the driveway and drove into the night, away from Hawkins and west, towards the sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it! Thank you to everyone who's read, left a comment or a kudos. It really does mean the world to me, as cliche as that sounds. This was my first time writing anything in over ten years, so it's really been a confidence boost to know it wasn't just me who liked it. I've had a couple ideas for a potential epilogue, so maybe in the future I'll return to this little world.
> 
> [The Harrington's car.](https://autopolis.wordpress.com/2012/03/05/1984-1992-lincoln-continental-mark-vii-lsc-brute-in-a-suit/)
> 
> [Tumblr page!](https://bird-in-a-cage.tumblr.com/)


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